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^Bachelor 



TJhe J'^M.ner U^^Qt 



BY 



ROBERT A. RIDDIC 



WITH INTRODUCTION AND 



BY MAJ. JOHN W. 
Jkithor of History o, Nortl 



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CONTENTS. 



Preface 

Introduction 

Lines to Annie Rives ^7 

„ . i8 

Neppie - 

Lines to a Miss ^^ 

The Night of my Thirty-third Anniversary 20 

-. , -r 22 

My Life 

Cora Lee ^ 

'Twas Sunday ^2 

Lines to Margaret ^ 

The Night of my Thirty-eighth Birthday 26 

The Girl for Me ^^ 

i Claire " ^^ 

Chilaish Recollections 3° 

Lines to Claire. ^° 

On a Beautiful Young Lady 4^ 

Nightfall the Last of August - 43 

The Bachelor "• 45 

The Blacksnake and the Turtle 46 

A Strange Answer - - 5° 

Autumn Sunlight After Frost 55 

Song of the Owl ^6 

The Meeting ^' 

■ . 63 

M-o-n-e-y -' 

Epitaph on Mr. Blank 5 

Epitaph on Mrs. Blank, 

The Robin's Song ^^ 

The Ghost of The Roadside. 67 

How They Killed Him 7i 

To-day I'm Forty -One 72 

The Chick and the Toad 74 

She Don't Love Me 79 

As When he Cannot Pay ^° 

Is he the Same ? --ir 

Virlme ji' " ^ 

Bertha Mae 7 9 

The Fishing-Party 92 

Advice to Girls 9 

B. G. W --'--"- ^°^ 

A Farmer's Reverie ^°3 

The First Fly of the Season ^°9 

The Water-Oak ' -^^^ 




ERRATA, 



In preface, read acknowledgments for acknowledgements. 
On page 9, read Briton for Brition. 
On page 13, read statesmen for statesman. 
On page 26, read exquisitely for exquisitly, and, in same 
piece, read zvky for who, and snch for such such. 



On page 27 
On page 28 
Oi page 29 
On page 30 
On page 38 
war.L 

On page 43 
< ^n page 44 
On page 47 
On page 48 
On page 49 
On page 53 
On page 6r 
On page 62 
On page 65 
On page 74 
On page 76 
On page 77 
On page 83 
On page 94 



ist line, read yon for you. 

read manner for manners. 

read acrostic for acroxcic. 

read sprites for spirits. 

read "'twas the end of the war for 'twas the 

first line, read The-ior She. 

read' save for saves and snakes for snake. 

read glossy for flossy, 

read judgment for judgement. 

read crazvPd iox craw'd. 

read fallen for fallen. 

read villain for villian. 

read judgment for judgement. 

read grandeur for granduer. 

read confahulate for fabulate. 

read hjtt trash for trash. 

read nonehtities for nonenties. 

read did affirm for did not afhrm. 

read fish for first. 



On page 102, read name foi names. 




ROBERT A. RIDDICK. 



MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR; 



OR, 



THE FARMER POET, 



ROBERT A. RIDDICK. 



WITH INTRODUCTION AND THREE POEMS 



BY MAJ. JOHN W. MOORE, 
Author of History of North Carolina.. 



RALEIGH : 

RALEIGH CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE PRINT. 

1899. 



y 



1^: 

i I 



<■ TO 

MRS. N. H. COX, 

THIS LITTLE BOOK IS TENDERLY INSCRIBED 

BY HER SON, THE AUTHOR. 

in Exch.ange 

U»iv. of North Carolina 





o 



PREFACE. 



" 'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print, 
A book's a book although there's nothing in't." 

In putting this little book before the public, I wish to 
say that it has been written, with the exception of a few 
pieces, during the leisure intervals of my five years stay as 
bachelor on the, farm. And, moreover, let me say that its 
pages will not be found to be filled either with the sayings 
of a wise man, .or with the beauties of a real poet; but, on 
the contrary, with those crudities which usually emanate 
from the brain of one of the plainest of all men — the 
farmer. 

If, however, my rude attempts but afford pleasure and 
entertainment to the child, or serve sometimes to give an 
hour's rest to the. tired mind of the scholar, then my hum- 
ble efforts will not have b.Qen entirely in vain. 

In my allusion, in one or two instances, to the depravity 
of man, I did not mean to embrace all — for there are thou- 
sands who are kind and humane — bnt simply had reference 
to the vicious and the mean. 

With the foregoing acknowledgements, I leave the book, 
let in the hands of its readers, begging that they be char- 
itable in their criticisms, and that they withhold any pun- 
ishment which, however much it may be deserved, I should 
hate to endure. 

The Introduction and Poems by Maj. John W. Moore 
need no encomium at my hands. They will speak for 



Jo 



4 PREFACE. 

themselves. Our people are too well acquainted with the 
masterly manner in which he treats a subject for me to 
attempt even to eulogize what he has written for this little 
work. He is as a speaker, "if not first, in the very first 
line ; " and, as a writer phenomenally gifted. " He touches 
nothing which he does not adorn." 

In the hope that my plain avowal may screen me from 
cruel judgment, I remain, with sincere good wishes, 

R. A. RIDDICK. 

Ahoskie^ April^ i8pg. 



INTRODUCTION 



"Heig-ho! what will happen next?" I hear some critic 
say as he first beholds this work. What can a North Caro- 
lina farmer have to say in the way of poetry? It was from 
just such wiseacres that similar remarks issued when young 
John Keats began his short and glorious career as a poet. 
Gifford, with his merciless strictures, could wound the sen- 
sitive young man to death, but could not change the world's 
verdict that another heavenly singer had arisen. The 
Scotch Reviewers had only sneers for Lord Byron until he 
pilloried them in immortal verse. Such men, too, essayed 
to patronize and depreciate Burns, until between their ill-na- 
tured patronage and that of the government, they broke his 
brave spirit. Just as 

" Wealth and fame from no condition rise, 
Act well thy part, there all the honor lies," 

so, too, the gift of poesy belongs to no class, region, or 
era of time. It is as wide as the world and enduring as 
eternity. It stirred in the heart of Adam when his eyes 
first looked out on Paradise, and it will sweeten and exalt 
humanity through those vast aeons of our lives beyond the 
grave. As well may we wonder that the birds pour out 
their souls in song, as that the human heart should go 
silent through life with sentiments of love and gratitude 
out-welling to God for the mercies and blessings so abund- 
antly bestowed upon the least fortunate of the human 
species. 



6 INTRODUCTION. 

The divine, historian, jurist, and philosopher have no 
higher sanction for their work. Indeed, it is generally con- 
ceded by cultivated people that among mere human employ- 
ments the very highest and rarest is this divine gift of song. 
The wise old Roman sang in the dead past, " Orator Jit ^ 
poeta nascitur^]^ which, being intepreted, reads, "The ora- 
tor is made, the poet, born." It was then Horace's belief 
that the great declaimers are the handiwork of teachers ; 
but on the other hand the poet's inspiration must be the gift 
of God. The school, together with diligent application, 
can take the boy of good mental grasp and make almost 
anything of him it may be desired, except in this enchanted 
land of fantasy. It is locked fast against the approach of 
all intruders who lack nature's original beaut3^ Then, too, 
this gift is like angel visits. Very few men and women in 
the world's history have had their lips touched by live coals 
from the altar of Parnassus. If this be true, then what 
right has a man who feels the throes of soul which prompt 
him to their expression in verse to refuse compliance? 
What if he fail to "awake to ecstasy the living lyre?" He can 
yet, if he loves truth and beauty, lift a voice in their com- 
mendation that may prove of lasting benefit. Who can 
estimate the joy and profit of the myriads who have min- 
gled their smiles and tears as they have read and sung the 
simple and deathless hymns of Dr. Isaac Watts ? 

As poetry comes next to music as the exposition of the 
soul, so, too, it combines an utterance of such thought as 
cannot be well voiced in mere prose. When King David 
gave vent to his overflowing gratitude to God in the 23d 
Psalm, how else could he have given appropriate expres- 
sion to his thought and emotion but in the glowing imagery 



INTRODUCTION. J 

of his verse, wedded to suitable music of his harp? There 
are a few souls so contracted and deformed that in their 
want of development they can feel no love for nor interest 
in the very noblest of all poems. They would have turned 
in disgust from Homer when, in his blindness, he wandered 
from city to city, reciting the lines of his immortal Iliad. 
They see no more beauty in the splendors of our glorious 
sunsets than if God had given neither tint nor outline to the 
cloudlands. Deaf to the grandest harmonies of the great 
musical composers, they turn with disgust from all paint- 
ings and sculptures. A big barn is their beau-ideal in 
architecture, and they go through life deaf and blind to the 
myriad beauties in sights and sounds which God intended 
for human instruction and delight. 

Such reflections have induced the author of this volume 
to publish the little poems contained in this book. They 
have occupied and amused his leisure' hours, and, I trust, 
will serve a similar office to any kindly reader in whose 
hands they may fall. Making no pretension to any beauty 
or excellence in the little book, he gives it to the public, 
hoping it will serve his readers as the book has served him 
in its composition, and thus help them to pass some odd hour 
not given to more important uses. 

Our people are not abreast with the civilized world in 
their love for books. North Carolina has given poor 
encouragement to literary work in her borders. When 
Walter Page went to Raleigh and established a paper that 
reflected honor upon the whole commonwealth, they had so 
little appreciation of the man and the opportunity that, 
after a brief struggle, he abandoned his native State and 
took his shining talents off to a more congenial latitude. 



8 INTRODUCTION. 

New York and Boston have delighted in doing him honor, 
and now, after editing the New York World c^vl^ other great 
journals, he is in conduct of the Atlantic Monthly^ the 
leading literary periodical of the Western Continent. Our 
people seem to take little interest in matters literary, and 
alas! that it should be confessed, we contain the next great- 
est percentage of ignorance of any State in the Union. 
One alone surpasses us in this "bad eminence," as Milton 
would call it. No people exist who are more just, peaceful, 
and patriotic than ours ; but their ingrained conservatism 
binds them to old habits and ideas, and only by slow 
degrees and multiplied demonstrations of better things can 
they be induced to forego creeds outworn, and practices 
abandoned everywhere else by civilized men. There are 
whole sections of our State where the insane opposition to 
all railways can yet be found as firmly rooted as when the 
old Raleigh and Gaston and Wilmington and Weldon rail- 
roads were the only routes built in the State, and they well 
nigh on the point of ruin for want of support among our 
people. An Eastern man was requested to pledge himself 
as hostile to all railroads before he could hope as a candi- 
date to receive the votes of our people and thus represent 
them in the Legislature at Raleigh. These same railroads 
have created here in America the greatest nation in all the 
world, and, but for them, the empire which we possess 
beyond the Mississippi would still be peopled only by a few 
straggling bands of Indians. 

If education is the chief defense of nations, it becomes 
the duty of every one to contribute whatever is possible to 
this end. Both as Christians and patriots, it behooves us all 
to do our part in discharging a debt we owe unto God and 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

our neighbor. It was quaint Sir Thomas Brown who 
declared, "I cannot condemn a man for ignorance, but 
behold him with as much pity as I do Lazarus. It is no 
greater charity to clothe his body than to apparel the nak- 
edness of his soul." The author of any book, however 
small, which contains matter that is true and wholesome, 
assuredly does something toward this end. He is a school- 
master in a small way, and his readers become his pupils 
and beneficiaries just so far as he conforms to the true, the 
good, and the beautiful. Where else, except in our Saviour's 
discourses, were the duties we owe to God and man so 
beautifully set forth as in the poetry of David? In what 
degree did Milton or Wordsworth, and in our day Alfred 
Tennyson, fall behind the greatest preachers in the purity 
and truth of their teaching? 

It was the dictum of a very great and wise man that 'the 
ballads and folk-lore of any people do more to color their 
times and history than all the statutes enacted by the 
statesman. It is impossible to realize in our day and gen- 
eration how the old ballad of Chevy Chase prolonged and 
embittered the hatred which through centuries of unavail- 
ing warfare kept England and Scotland separate nation- 
alities, and kept alive the senseless hatred long after 
both countries had been ruled by the same king. It was in 
the same spirit that a sturdy old Brition of the last century 
thanked God that he had no prejudices, but added that he 
was free to confess that from the bottom of his heart he 
despised the sight of a Frenchman. The man with purity 
in his soul rises far above the horizon of such wicked 



lO INTRODUCTION. 

puerility, and it is a part of his mission in this world to 
sing and recommend a day of better things. 

" The steamship and the railway and the thoiights that shake mankind " 

have of late largely triumphed over such wicked and child- 
ish perversions of that charity that should be found domi- 
nating the lives of every Christian people. The man who, 
in those far off ancient days, went down from Jerusalem to 
Jericho, and on the way fell among thieves, was even then 
fortunate enough to find succor at the hands of a stranger 
too wise and just to follow such ignoble promptings! As 
God has made of one blood all the nations of the world, 
even so are those of every race and region to be counted 
our neighbors. ' 

With such a polity among the nations, how Arcadian 
would human life become ! How infinitely better than 
our present habit of wasting hundreds of millions every year 
on armies and armaments for one Christian people to pro- 
tect itself against another! 

As poetry in its highest office becomes prophetic, no man 
of common endowments should fail to see and acknowledge 
its importance in the world. In fact, with all the beauty 
and perfection of our Lord's teachings. Christians have 
remained largely blind to the blessings of those who can 
appreciate the overflowing beauty of God in the way He 
has decorated the visible works of His creation. How dare 
we to be blind to the glories of the lilies? "Behold they 
toil not, neither do they spin, yet I say unto you that Solo- 
mon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these." 
Does the dull utilitarian know what was meant by our 
Saviour when he asked, " Is not the life more than meat and 



INTRODUCTION. 1 1 

the body more than raiment?" Shall we strip existence of 
all its significance and delights and bow down to the false 
gods carved out by greed and selfishness? The spirit that 
is attuned to the highest harmonies walks on like the lady 
in Comus. Amid scenes of fearful danger, she was yet 
secure, telling the Prince of revelers that God 

' ' Would send a glistening guardian if need were 
To keep her life and honor unassailed." 

-It has been long the habit of Europeans to sneer at 
Americans, and charge them with possessing no higher ideals 
than the mere accumulation of money. It is a sad thing to 
confess that a large proportion of our people are amenable 
to such criticism. It is true that now and then we find 
noble exceptions to this humiliating rule, and they, we are 
proud to say, are mostly found in our own Southland. Be- 
yond the Potomac, the fashion loving classes are most 
wholly found among the wealthy parvenues who take great 
pains to erect barriers against the intrusion of any person 
who may not carry as long a purse and spend money with 
the same ostentation as practiced among themselves. They 
have come to regard Newport as so exclusively their prop- 
erty that they regard the presence of visitors outside of 
their own set as that of some presumptuous and blundering 
idiot in thus daring to violate the haunt sacred to the elite. 
Such people are buying up and appropriating to similar 
uses some of the most lovely and charming retreats to be 
found in the Republic. Men like President McKinley and 
Mr. Speaker Reed can, on proper invitation and with con- 
sent given by proper authority in^ the club owning Jekyl 
Island, visit that once popular resort and be treated like 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

Christian people are in the habit of extending to even the 
wayfaring stranger who asks shelter for the night. But 
now, instead of gay multitudes seeking health and happiness 
as of old, these rich exclusives have the beach patrolled, and 
the unwelcome millions are told that their presence is in no 
way desired. This unamiable and unchristian spirit of the 
American Nabobs was lately exemplified very conspicuously 
by Mr. William Waldorf Astor. He has lately come in pos- 
session of a noble country seat in the vicinity of London. 
It had been, before he assumed control, a great show place, 
and was visited by delighted thousands, who loved to wan- 
der through its noble park and gardens. Even its art treas- 
ures had been in conformity with the habit of the English 
nobility, open at times to the inspection of decent strangers 
of every nationality ; but Mr, Astor, like his republican 
friends at home, soon built lofty fences around his grounds, 
and shutting his doors against all the world outside the 
charmed circle, he thinks worthy of seeing the beauty of 
his park and drive-ways. 

These wealthy people who have become so rich and pow- 
erful that they can thus seem to despise public opinion and 
to feel no need of the kindly feeling and friendly offices of 
the community at large are carrying themselves into ways 
that are full of evil portents for the future. Not content 
with so many exhibitions of their disregard for the masses, 
they have found means to control Congress, Legislatures, 
and the Courts, and to put the great bulk of the enormous 
public expenses upon the poor people, and to exempt them- 
selves from a large share of taxes levied. The government 
had taxed incomes for many years with the full assent of 
our Federal Supreme Court until, reversing the decisions of 



INTRODUCTION. 1 3 

a century, these rich people hired lawyers who could per- 
suade the Court to go back on all its precedents, and one of 
them not three months old, and thus deliver thousands of 
millions of wealth from all participation in support of the 
government. Do such men forget that this very govern- 
ment was not only the means of their accumulation and 
the only hope of its security? Will they extort and oppress 
and corrupt until public patience has perished and the peo_ 
pie rise in their might to secure justice? No king has yet 
\wed who dared to oppress too far men of Anglo-Saxon 
blood. They hate revolution, and reverence the decrees of 
their courts until they lose hope of truth and justice in 
their decisions. With so fell a consummation the day of 
reckoning as surely comes as night doth follow day. It 
may be that entrenched wealth may trust in the big armies 
that are being enrolled as bridles to restrain the people's ire, 
but such hope is vain. Either our statesman will pause 
and retrace their mistaken paths, or there must be a halt in 
these outrages upon the masses. Red-handed anarchy and 
bloodshed will be the sequel otherwise. 

"Heigho! Give us a. rest!" I hear you say again, Mr. 
Critic. What do you say about the connection between 
poetry and statecraft, and their relations to the people? 
Surely the poet owes the , same obligation of patriotism as 
do other men, and have you never read Plato's discourse 
on immortality, where he related what Socrates said to his 
friends as they surrounded his beloved form and heard the 
last utterances of that wonderful man who was, by general 
consent, the wisest and best of those immortal heroes that 
made Greece so famous? He told them the first obligation 
every man owes, to his son is to teach him music. The 



14 INTRODUCTION. 

paragon of patriots maintained that a man's love of his na- 
tive land is thereby created and confirmed. In those an- 
cient days, too, before the coming of our Lord, the heathen 
philosopher made patriotism and obedience to his govern- 
ment the beginning and largely the substance of true re- 
ligion. To him, too, music and poetry were synonymous 
terms. The poets, following the example of blind old 
Homer, went from town to town reciting or singing their 
compositions. These, like the Iliad and Odyssey, were 
stories in verse, which told of the deeds and sayings of he- 
roes and kings. The genius of man has yet failed to create 
any epic to surpass the Iliad. Its sustained greatness in 
depicting incidents and character, its wonderful grouping 
and arrangement,^ and the steady evolution of the fatal quarrel 
amid the Greek chiefs, are told in a way as delightful 
to men of our day as they were three thousand years ago. 

Thus one may, in all reason, claim that the poet's mis- 
sion, far from being like that of some butterfly of summer, 
is full of the highest significance and benefit to the world 
at large. It transcends mere material and remunerative 
callings, just in the same ratio that all things spiritual and 
intellectual transcend the clods of the valley. It is very true 
that our bodies are the temples of the soul and should be kept 
fit for the indwelling of the Holy Ghost, and the soul is 
like some lighted lamp that sends radiance to its opaque 
enclosure. How all important that the light which thus 
we afford should be bright and of sweet odor! 

In this world our lives are largely colored by our own 
individual purposes and ideals. It is true that none of us 
is strong enough or wise enough to deliver our soul from 
all the effects of circumstance aiid environment. God has 



INTRODUCTION. 1 5 

SO made us that we are largely each other's keepers. Then, 
too, we are told by the greatest of the poets that a wise 
man 

"Finds tongues in trees, books, and running brooks, 
Sermons in stones, and good in everything." 

Then let us beware how we are to be influenced ourselves, 
and yet again be still more alert as to what other people 
may suffer by reason of mistakes and faults incurred by in- 
fluences for which we can be held liable. Human life at 
b^t is so short that, for good or evil, it can mainly affect 
the world but for a brief season; but some little books are 
as undying as the human race, and their influence for good 
or evil survives through all generations. The Book of Job 
is said to be the oldest of all the writings which have come 
down to us from the era wherein the patriarchs lived upon 
the earth. Yet how pregnant it still remains for the good of 
mankind! It is thus that the highest and purest motive 
arises for a country farmer, or any one else who may prove 
capable to undertake, even in a small and humble way, to 
leave as a legacy to this and succeeding generations his 
best thoughts and aspirations. Who shall say how many 
may be cheered and elevated by his words? No man who 
loves truth and purity, and impregnates his written works 
with loving advocacy for their claims upon us, can go 
without proper reward. His reward may be like bread 
cast on the water, and be slow in its full fruition, but 'God 
is just and the justifier of all such as thus put their trust 
in Him.' J. W. M. 



MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR, 



THE FARMER POET. 



LINES TO ANNIE RIVES. 

(A ycung lady visitor now at school.) 

And here am I whose thoughts delight to be 

On her whose form I once was wont to see ; 

That form withdrawn, endearing thought still cleaves 

In vigor to the mem'ry of Annie Rives. 

Oh, blest the hour in which the meeting come, 
Or where she now resides or at her home! 
That shall my eyes in pleasant feasting dwell 
On her with that sense the tongue can never tell. 

Blest be the time, though distant far away. 
That lend to me the soul-bestirring ray; 
That ray which glows more softly one believes. 
From no other eye as that of Annie Rives. 

Pandora, with gifts bountifully given 
By gods and goddesses of th' realms of heaven, 
Could not have won with all her beauty rare 
As lovely a name as thou art doom'd to share. 



MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Can time avenge all sacred pleasures lost, 
Efface the scathing thought and painful cost 
Of days misspent, of chances unimproved, 
And all th' embittered years of a life unloved? 

Then unto me such blessings now restore. 
And pain my life with sorrows never more ; 
Give unto me I ask what ne'er deceives — 
That glorious gift — the gift of Annie Rives. 

March, 1885. 



NEPPIE. 

(An Acrostic Written for an Album.) 

No life on earth, howe'er it may be spent, 

Evinces all the joy of full content. 

Proud monarchs, tho' o'er earth their sceptres sway, 

Philosophers explain, poets portray. 

In all the varied callings these beside 

E'en in them all there's no one satisfied. 



But yet, e'en so, there's still a rich bequest — 
A dear companion in whom you feel blest ; 
Redundant wealth, or richest work of art 
Could ne'er such pleasure to the soul impart. 
Life's fullest happiness is best obtain'd 
In getting that most rarely to be gain'd ; 
Fair Fortune, then, a kindness will bestow 
To give her whose name these initials show. 

July 4, 1887. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 1 9 



LINES TO A MISS. 

Like bright and lovely flowers 
That deck the smiling land, 
Or soft and genial showers 
On some lone blighted strand ; 
Like warm and gentle sunbeams 
That kiss the sparkling dew, 
My life thus always seems 
When lit and led by you. 

Enraptured by thy presence 
All places would prove sweet ; 
For by fond love's puissance 
No power could entreat 
Me words uncouth to use. 
Or acts unkind to do, 
For thus I would abuse 
Thy tender heart and true. 

The beauty of thy face 
The limner's art defies, 
No sorrow can erase 
The lustre of thine eyes ; 
The radiance of thy smile, 
How beautiful ! It seems 
A spirit to beguile 
My soul to softest dreams. 



20 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Amidst life's fairer bowers 
May e'er thy lot be cast, 
Unshackled by the powers 
That strive our hopes to blast ; 
May God in love look down, 
And all thy ways defend, 
Send not one angry frown 
Thy happiness to end. 

Ahoskie, N. C. 



THE NIGHT OF MY THIRTY-THIRD ANNI- 
VERSARY. 

The sweet thoughts of that night I shall never forget. 

With the fondest delight I remember them yet. 

And when age will have furrow'd deep lines on my brow 

They will still seem as vividly present as now. 

As I quietly sat and enjoy'd the hours through. 

There was much that was pleasing and charming to view. 

Oh, how peacefully calm, how transcendently bright, 

Were the things that I saw in the moon's tender light ! 

The whole earth was suffused: there cannot be a scene 

In which there was more lovely, more beautiful sheen. 

There sweet perfume of flowers arose to my sense, 

Ev'ry bud, ev'ry bloom did an odor dispense ; 

There the tall tow'ring pines that were standing close by 

Seem'd to lift with much grandeur their heads to the sky ; 

The tall spire of the church, the green leaves of the trees, 

The grass-covered lawn, the exhil'rating breeze — 

These were some of the charms of that night I recall. 

But there's one yet unmention'd, the sweetest of all. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 21 

Now the last, now the last — oh, how shall I confer 

The encomium that should be given to her? 

Unrenowned in song or in rhythmical fame, 

I possess not the words to add praise to her name ; 

The light spirit of Erato I would invite 

To preside o'er my mind while I thus try to write. 

Unadorned with gold, she in simple attire. 

Was the loveliest object I saw to admire ; 

The soft, ambient light which so lustrously shone 

From the far-distant face of that summer night's moon. 

Was not lovelier, brighter, more beautiful, true, 

Than that which did illume the sweet face of Miss Sue. 



Though this date shall repeat in the cycle of years. 
Just as surely and truly as sunlight appears, 
Yet to me 't will not seem as it did on that night 
When all things were enwrapt in such beautiful light: 
Not, perhaps, if I'm suffer'd to add on life's page 
All the days and the years that make up an old age. 
Upon her whose pure life has evoked what I've said 
May the sweet dews of heaven be lovingly shed ; 
Her pure fountain of joy never know any dearth 
Till her spirit shall waft 'bove the cares of this earth. 

July 30, 1889. 



22 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 



MY UFE. 

My life is like the wounded dove 
That falls in solitude to die, 
Alone, forgot, bereft of love. 
The object of no anxious eye ; 
Yet on the bird's forlorn estate 
Some human care perchance may wait, 
Some eye her body bend to see. 
But none, alas ! will care for me. 

My life is like the vernal dawn 
That^s usher'd in with cloudless light. 
But ere the hours of day are gone 
Is seen the trace of stormy night ; 
Yet when the raging storm is o'er, 
And howling winds are heard no more, 
A deeper calm there seems to be. 
But there's no calm, alas ! for me. 

My life is like the crescent moon 
That shines afar with palest ray ; 
Her light is sinking and how soon 
She'll leave the earth and pass away ! 
But when she's sunk in vaulted tomb. 
All nature seems to wear a gloom. 
As if it mourn'd her leave to see. 
But none, alas ! will mourn for me. 

November i88q. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 23 

CORA LEH. 

(Air, "Those Evening Bells.") 

When saddest moments o'er me brood, 
And thought is lost in sombre mood, 
'Tis then I ask one smile to see 
Of that sweet girl, fair Cora Lee. 

CHORUS. 

Sweet Cora Lee, sweet Cora Lee, 
With joyous heart I sing of thee, 
And ask some guardian angel near 
To light thy face from ev'ry tear. 

When time, or soon or late, shall take 
Away thy presence, then will wake 
The pleasing thought that memory 
Shall e'er retain a place for thee. 

And may earth's sorrows never cloy 
Thy present bliss, thy future joy ; 
But bursts of rapture ever gleam 
Upon thy life with brightest beam. 

November, 1890. 



24 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

'TWAS SUNDAY. 

The day was second of October, 
The breeze was neither warm nor cold, 
But gently play'd with fading verdure 
As down the track we onward stroll'd ; 
While streams of light from autumn's sun 
Pour'd o'er the scene enjoy'd in fun. 

It was a day such as the mind, 

In looking back o'er days gone by. 

Is wont t'recall with an emotion 

As softly sweet as echoes die ; 

For not e'en hearts of pangs or tears 

Forget the joys of tend'rer years. 

The scene as I have said was joyful, 
Nor cloud nor speck in heaven's serene 
Was visible. The great and broad 
Expanse of sky was clear and clean ; 
And in this universe of worlds 
The fairest sight was lovely girls. 

And they were two : lola Lee 
And Mamie. On and on we went 
Till by and by we reach'd the trees; 
'Mong them the winds and waters lent 
Such soothing tones in length and breve 
That I was loath indeed to leave. 

We held converse with one another 
In words of pleasantry as friends 
Are wont to do. And these are times 



OR THE FARMER POET. 25 

In which the soul with nature blends, 
Dispelling from our minds the care 
Which nature never deigns to share. 

Said Miss lola : "Isn't it pretty 

In there." And with a gentle move 

Her hand directed to the copse 

And verdant reeds. Said she : "I love 

Not man the less but nature more;" 

A sentiment oft heard before. 

The words which Mamie spoke were few. 
The beautiful and lovely page 
Open'd before her seem'd t' absorb 
Her livelier self, and to engage 
That fervid study which controls 
The mind and heart of tranquil souls. 

At length we stood upon a bridge 
Where flows beneath a gentle stream, 
Whose purling music was as sweet 
As what we feel in love's first dream ; 
And on its waves we'd pebbles throw 
To watch the circlets come and go. 

The brighter rays, now blent into 
That glowing red which marks the near 
Approach of night, warn'd us we must 
Return. With merriment and cheer 
We left the bridge, and walk'd us back 
O'er our same way upon the track. 

October iS, 1S92. 



26 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

LINES TO MARGARET. 

(An Acrostic. ) 

Majestic sweetness, nature's loveliest trace, 

Adorns the beauty of thy virgin face ; 

Retiring- and refined it fills with ease 

Grim man whose care forbids aught else to please. 

A thousand praises exquisitly wrought, 

Replete with all with which our words are fraught ; 

E'en these but poor and idle things would be 

To give the praise I'd gladly give to thee. 

Hail ! happy one, I worship at thy shrine. 

And ask the boon Minerva wouldn't resign ; 

Resolved she was "The Blue-eyed Maid" to live, 

Great guardian care was all she sought to give ; 

Remem 'bring thus her tutelary care, 

One lover's heart 'twas not her wish to share ; 

Vain goddess ! oh who did she thus decide ! 

Essay not thou such such course — but be my bride. 

April 3, 1S93. 

THE NIGHT OF MY THIRTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY. 

The da}' dreams of my years are past. 
Night's visions hover thick and dark ; 
The stream of life I'm sailing fast 
Death's sea t' embark. 

These woods, this field, I used to roam, 
With playmates who are gone forever, 
Will never seem such sacred home 
Again, no-never. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 27 

And while you moon with softest lieht 
Shines down upon the same old scene, 
There's many a thought recurs to-night 
Of what has been. 

The many mounds 'mong yonder pines 
Remind me of mv kindred o-one ; 
I sit and think if Fate desis^ns 
I live alone. 

In life's great book whose lids I ope 
To trace if there my doom is gi /en, 
I find it not, but there's this hope — 
The hope of heaven. 

Oh ! why should I like others crave 
T' extend this feeble span of years, 
When there ma}- be within the grave 
An end of fears ? 

The dire conflict will soon be over. 
And then earth's scenes no more I'll share ; 
In the inane I may discover 
Why I am here. 

" 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, 
Since others it hath ceased to move ; 
Yet though I cannot be beloved. 
Still let me love." 

Old Home, July 4, 1S94. 



28 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 



THE GIRL FOR ME. 

If she were sweet and very neat, 

A paragon, a charm. 
Without deceit, with shapely feet, 

And pretty rounded arm ; 
And if her voice were simply choice. 

Her manners always free. 
Not with the boys, but to rejoice. 

She'd be the girl for me. 

And if her hair were dark or fair 

That would but little matter, 
Just so her air were sweetly rare 

I'd dearly love to chat her. 
Her symmetry, her mouth, her eye, 

If these should perfect be. 
Then surely I would breathe this sigh- 

You are the eirl for me. 



If in her face I could but trace 

Love's presence and duration. 
Nothing should brace me 'gainst the race 

Of my love's consummation ; 
For I would dare her life to share 

If she would but agree ; 
Then I could swear, with love and care, 

I'd won the girl for me, 

July 22d, 1894. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 29 



CLAIRE. 

(All Acroxcic in which there is a mistake in the name — the real name being Claire 
Renshawe Newsome. ) 

Could grace and beauty in a word be told, 

Long had such word — if with me to prepare — 

Arisen to my thoughts. I'll not withhold 

It, for just trace this line and know 'twere Claire. 

Rich and in great exuberance her hair 

Encircles gorgeously a noble brow ; 

1^0 feature harsh to mar her face so fair 

She looks a type of loveliness ; and now 

Her beans would pay a word of homage for her vow. 



And to extol her virtues were a task 

Which genius rare alone might undertake. 

No countenance like hers could ever mask 

Envenom'd breath, or hate such as would make 

Within the heart a feeling to forsake. 

She seems a favorite, and with a smile 

On all her spell of joy will hardly break. 

May she live on and no one e'er revile. 

E'en jealousy itself should not her name defile. 

September 20, 1894. 



30 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 



CHILDISH RECOLLECTIONS. 

'Tis with gladsome delight I revert to the scenes 
(Even though a great number of years interv^enes) 
Of my childhood and youth, so replete with the best 
And the dearest fond mem'ries with which life is blest. 
Happy years ! although gone never more to be mine, 
Yet my heart your bright picture will ever enshrine. 
How I think of the group by the fireside at night. 
Seated round in a row by the bright burning light, 
Which shone up from the hearth iii the face of us all. 
Flared over the room and gflisten'd on the wall. 



With what pleasure the moments our talking beguiled, 
When, to mark the strange zest in the mind of a child 
Of mysterious things, the old heads would commence 
'Bout the things in old houses, and dark forests dense. 
Such as goblins, and ghosts, and the great and grim spirits. 
And a number of other things children call "frights," 
Lentil I was uneasy and 'fraid, for, forsooth. 
Though a story to them yet I fear'd 'twas the triith. 



Thus with fearful forebodings I went to my bed 
After my little prayer, "Now I lay me," was said. 
And there thro' a window I'd watch the bright eyes 
Of the far-away stars as they shone in the skies; 
Or in turning my head tow'rd the light of the fire 
All the shadows around seemed woefully dire. 
Until Morpheus, bless him ! would over me peep, 
Wave gently his poppies and soothe me to sleep. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 3I 

But the somnific pow'r of this god of repose 

Could not hold in subjection the host of dread foes 

That would come in my dreams these sweet hours to molest, 

Fill my heart with dismay and disquiet my rest ; 

For how oft did I call to my mother when she 

Would say there was nothing at all after me, 

And to quiet my fears from this spell of deep gloom, 

Would at once light a lamp and examine the room. 



Ah! full well I remember when but a small boy 
How I strove with hard licks a cat's life to destroy, 
x^nd was told at the time by a servant that he 
(The old cat) would come after me sure as could be. 
As the criminal's guilt is more sensibly felt 
When the law unto him condemnation has dealt. 
So this mischief at first but a pastime in fun 
Boded evil indeed when I'd found what I'd done. 



Not one moment of peace from that hour could I find, 

For the thought of the "haunt" was disturbing my mind ; 

And at last when at night to my bed I must go, 

I lay down with a dread as of meeting a foe. 

In the slumbers of midnight — that hour still and lone — 

I awoke, and could hear a deep, ominous groan ; 

I looked up at the window, and through it there flew 

A great long snaky ghost striped with red and with blue. 

"Lordy mercy! Oh Lordy!" I scream'd and I cried, 

And if pa had not come to be sure I had died. 



32 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

There was much to encounter of troubles and fears 
All along through the course of my puerile }'ears ; 
But nothing beside within all the whole course 
Scared me in this way save a skeleton horse ; 
Which appear'd at my bed a long time after that, 
And convulsed me with fright as I'd been by the cat. 

From the tale of these ghosts, my great dread when a boy, 

I shall turn to a theme which affords me more joy; 

To a theme which though seen through the mist of long 

years. 
Becomes bright as the mkt from the mind disappears ; 
For the mem'ry^at work brings back much we have done, 
Whether childish displeasure or sweet childish fun. 
With no brother alive, and no white associate. 
O'er the fields, down the lanes, with a negro boy mate, 
I would go every day in a regular race 
To engage in the sport of a grasshopper chase. 
When these insects were caught we would thrust them alive 
In a hole in the earth with the hope they would thrive ; 
We'd feed them as we would a fat pig in the sty. 
But our feeding was useless — the "pigs" would all die. 
What there was in this pastime attracted me so 
It would seem very hard for another to know ; 
But to me 'twas delightful, and e'en now I feel 
A remembrance of joy I can never reveal. 

But the gay verdant fields which are charmingly grown 
O'er with grass, and with plants, and with flowers full blown. 
Are at last by cold winter made drear}' and bare. 
And m}- pleasure, if any, must come from elsewhere. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 33 

Though the rich summer season is past and gone, yet 
Its departure occasions but little regret ; 
For the pleasure I saw during summer's bright heat 
Is succeeded by that seen 'mid snows and the sleet. 



Seated now by the fire — quite a small, anxious chap — 
I am watching some one as he makes me a trap ; 
When 'tis linish'd I take it, and quickly I go 
It tctoset in a place where I kick off the snow. 
Very glad thus to see where a spot of earth's shown, 
Many sparrows and snowbirds soon hither have flown. 
And when lured by the bait they're so anxious to eat 
One is presently captured, and oh what a treat ! 
Now this wee little bird, whom to catch I have toil'd, 
Being carefully drest on the coals he is broil'd, 
And so dainty the taste, so savory and sweet, 
Mv conviction still is he's the sweetest of meat. 



Of the rabbits, also, I must something relate. 
They contributed much to my fun at this date. 
Not exactly, howe'er, at this date, be it known. 
For with these I began when a boy larger grown. 
Now to capture the rabbits I had a round gum 
With a door at one end into which they could come; 
And the gum being set at a muse in the fence, 
Mister Bun comes along and the turnip-top scents. 
His olfactory sense being much gratified. 
To investigate further he saunters inside ; 
Going now to the end for the dainty repast 



34 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

He trips the door-prop, the door falls and he's fast. 
Bright and early next morn to the gum I repair, 
Looking in at the door I observ^e the old hare ; 
And am glad, very glad at the game I have caught. 
Yet though surely my rabbit is scarce worth a groat. 

During warm sunny days, oh, how oft I have been 
With my father to angle for perch and red-fin, 
And beneath the cool shade overhanging the run 
We have stood and enjoyed this fishery fun. 
Greatly pleased I was too when my father would take 
Up his gun for a hunt, and for company's sake 
Let me follow. The pleasure was great when his aim 
Satisfied my fond wish by his killing the game. 
Thiis by going with him, and with others also, 
Many a spot was endear'd, whither thoughts daily go; 
And those places e'en now, if by chance them I see. 
Are reminders at once of how thinsfs used to be. 



O how oft does fond mem'ry those child-walks review, 

"x'lnd every loved spot which my infancy knew;" 

How oft do I think of those woody alcoves 

Where honeysuckles grew 'mid the deep tangled groves, 

Through whose shade I have roved with the plantation boys 

To gather this fruit which the farm-child enjoys. 

And how pleasant always was the sweet music made 

By the clear trilling notes of the birds in the shade, 

And how pleasantly sad and how very acute 

Is the thought of the sound of the old sourwood flute. 

Which some boy with a "barlow" was certain to make. 

And to blend with the bird-songfs its resonant shake. 



OR THE FARMER POET. ' 35 

Now before I complete this dull section of rhyme 

Just a word let me add on the joyous old time 

When we bo^'s roam'd the fields, about twenty abreast, 

To find in the broom-straw a partridge's nest. 

Memor}^ ! thou art wonderful ! strange ! from thy train 

Of things past thou dost give either pleasure or pain ! 

When beclouded with care, and there's nothing to charm. 

It is pleasant to think of the scenes on the farm : 

The plentiful harvest of ripe, yellow corn 

Whic;Ji was annually gather'd to fill the large barn ; 

The full houses of fodder packed up in thick walls 

For the mules and the horses that ate in the stalls ; 

The large crop of potatoes, the cotton-fields white, 

And the pickers who'd bring up full baskets at night ; 

And the fat heavy hogs, with a snore and a grunt, 

In their laziness lay, as is always their wont. 

On the pen I would sit, and look in at this sight, 

Which afforded me daily a share of delight ; 

And the day of their butch'ry I hail'd with much joy, 

For to me 'twas enjoyment unmix'd with alloy. 

To the calves in the lawn, to the cows at the gate. 

To the oxen who tugg'd under loads of great weio-ht, 

To the rest of the herd, or in field or in wood, 

To them all fancy flies in the happiest mood. 

And the sheep, with their nude, slender legs, I see now 

Just as though it had been but a few days ago ; 

Their bright eyes, crooked horns, and their long shaggy 

fleece, 
Impress'd me with some thoughts time will never efface ; 
There was something 'bout them which I very much fear'd. 
For I thought they seem'd ghostly, unnat'ral, and weird ; 



2,6 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

And 'twas often the case when I lay fast asleep 

I would think in my dreams of the ugly old sheep. 

There were chickens and turkeys and guineas and geese, 

Puddle-ducks and muscovies all over the place ; 

And the pigeons would coo in their holes in the shed, 

On the houses they'd strut, or fly pioudly o'er head. 



As my thoughts wander back they unfailingly stop 

At the large stately oak overspreading the shop, 

Neath whose roof the blacksmith with his coals all aglow, 

Plied his skill on such tools as the wedge and grubhoe. 

^Twas a pleasant retreat during winter's bleak days 

To stand on the forge and enjoy the warm blaze ; 

See the smith with his tongs clasp the white-heated ore, 

And with vigorous strokes make the shop ring and roar. 

See the sparkles fly off — broken scales of the crust — 

Like diminutive meteors through the thick dust; 

How they shot all around through each crevice and chink. 

Exciting much mirth as some urchin would shrink. 

The hoarse-breathing bellows with round iron flue, 

Making hotter the flame with each breath that it blew ; 

The ring of the anvil as hammers would fall, 

The vise and the " trav'ler," the old vat and all ; 

These often return, let me go where I will — 

Welcome spectres of yore, they revisit me still. 

Off in front of the shop, on a parallel line, 

Stood the ginhouse — a quaint, anti-bellum design, 

And here operated the horses and men, 

For no modern machinery was utilized then ; 

No piston and boiler, no furnace and steam. 

But plain wooden cogwheels drawn round by the team. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 37 

The convivial season of Christmas of old 
Is a thing which my fancy delights to behold ; 
Every needful requirement the mind could suggest 
Was fulfilled that that time should give pleasure and rest : 
There was wood for the fires — an exhaustless supply, 
And the fagots of lightwood fill'd boxes near by; 
Every part of the yard must be carefully swept, 
And the spacious old dwelling more orderly kept ; 
Thus things moved along till at length Christmas Eve 
' Bade-«bhe menials quit work till the holidays leave. 
Christmas Eve ! Oh, what mem'ries well up thro' that tide^ 
When my sisters and I (one of whom has since died ! ) 
Busied round with our chatter, with never a pause, 
'Bout the "goodies" expected from old Santa Claus. 
And when through the hours of that still, deathlike lull 
We awoke, and realized that our stockings were full. 
No one could describe th' inexpressible joy 
Of two glad little girls and a grlad little bov. 



How distinctlv remembrance, that lisfhtninsf of mind. 

Takes me back to the room where on Christmas we dined ; 

The mahogany table with viand and dish 

Supplied every craving the palate could wish ; 

Every guest that was present would praise the rich feast, 

Or show his approval by eating at least ; 

And when from this room in the parlor we went 

]\Ierry laughter and talk were enjoy'd to content ; 

But tiring on this, just for innocent fun, 

A table was placed and a game was begun ; 

They'd give and they'd beg, they would cut and they'd deal,, 



38 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Interspersing at times laughter's jolly, loud peal, 

Until some of the players would gladly exclaim 

That they played that time high, low, jack and the game. 

As time's ceaseless roll other days brought around 

New diversions and sports were successively found. 

And no day of the season was dull to me then, 

But those days are now gone, the}' can ne'er come again. 



Though a very poor tribute I know I shall pay. 

Yet I'll close not these lines without something to say 

'Bout the faithful negroes in their cabins close by 

All of whom I see now in my memory's eye. 

Many a night when the weather was balmy like Ma}^ 

I was oft engaged with negro-children at pla}^ ; 

In the plays "hide the whip," "John Bailey," and "denbase" 

We would run one another in liveliest chase; 

And to see the dim figures glide round thus at night 

Was the ne plus ultra of my boyish delight. 

And on Sunday also, at some choice rendezvous 

The young negroes at home, those from neigh'bring farms 

too. 
Would be busy at play — all the men and the boys — 
Making merry the scene with their running and'noise. 



In these cursory thoughts I have meant to define 

Little things which occurred before I was nine ; 

Near which age of my life I was able to draw 

A new sketch of the times — 'twas the war. 

All the negroes were freed, and the most of them gone 



OR THE FARMER POET. 39 

To begin life anew in the era jnst born. 

To a day-school also 'bont this time I was sent, 

And I'll never forget what I then underwent ; 

To be thus torn away from the things I enjoy'd 

Was a terror — a torment which greatly anno}-'d. 

To be pent in a house with my book or my slate, 

And deprived at my home of my negro-boy mate ; 

To recite and recite, and still lessons to get 

Was the hardest experience I had seen yet. 

'Tw^ a task so severe that my prejudice ran 

Against it from that time iintil I was a man. 

But these wandering thoughts I'll no further extend, 

Verv few more the lines and I'll be at the end. 



Mark the change, if yoii please, between now and the past ! 
And, perhaps, there's no one who feels more the contrast 
Than myself, when I think of my living alone 
At the very same place where I've seen and have known 
All the incidents that I have tried to relate ; 
They occur to my mind, in my heart the}'^ create 
Melancholy and grief — a sad waste and a void — 
Caused by cruel Time who has wrought and destro}'d ! 
Happy years that are gone, upon you I do dwell ! 
Dearest scenes of my life, let me bid you farewell ! 

October 6, 1894. 



40 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 



UNES TO CLAIRE. 

(An Acrostic.) 

Come gentle Muse, thy presence lend, 
Let purest words my tho ights attend, 
Attune my lyre to music sweet, 
Infuse thy spirit true, discreet ; 
Remove whate'er is insincere, 
Evince thyself my patron here. 



Renshawe, how beautiful thy name ! 
Esteem and praise thou too dost claim. 
Nature hath done for thee her part — 
Stamp'd beauty without gloss of art ; 
How well her force of art to try 
Attests itself in thy soft eye, 
Whose pleasing depth and tender light 
E'er seen becomes a part of sight. 



Now on thy worth— thy moral dues — 
Efficient words I cannot use; 
With gen'rous attributes of mind. 
So purely sweet and sweetly kind. 
On these 'twere best some other hand 
Meet praise bestow. I never can 
Evoke applause for gifts so grand. 

November 16, 1S94. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 41 

ON A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG LADY. 

There's an image I know ever round me, 
'Tis the image of her I most love, 
And its essence so subtle has bound me 
x\s if by some force from above ; 
Should I go to earth's parts the remotest, 
Or sail over old ocean's deep blue, 
I am sure the first thing to be noticed 
Would be the fair image there too. 



All the spouting and sparkling of fountains, 

All the soft-gurgling music of rills, 

The sublime and the grand of the mountains 

In whose presence the soul of man thrills ; 

The sweet notes of the birds gayly singing, 

Tangled forests of vine and of tree. 

All the grass and the flowerets springing, 

Are not fair as this imaee to me. 



And such beauty thus seen by reflection 
In the dim, murky mirror of mind. 
Cannot possibly reach that perfection 
Which in her own self I could find ; 
To indulge such a picture ideal 
Is a pleasure I'd hate to forego, 
But to be with and look at the real 
Is the rarest of blessings below. 



42 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

That my love for this one is sincerer 
Than mere meaningless words can convey, 
That my heart feels a zeal which is dearer 
Is too trnly defined to gainsay ; 
For last night while slumbering and sleeping 
I dreamed some one said she must die ; 
And when I awoke I was weeping, 
And my heart it did heave with a sigh. 



But the glory which follow'd this vision, 
When my sense back again was restored, 
Was a foretaste of regions elysian 
Where sorrow no more is deplored ; 
'Twas a feeling of grand satisfaction 
Which no pow'r of description can tell. 
And the words which soothed my distraction 
Were : 'twas only a dream — she is well. 



Although burden'd with care and with sorrow, 
I'm not yet in the dust of despair ; 
To-days hope buoys me up for the morrow. 
And encouragingly says forbear. 
"There is many a pang to pursue me: 
They may crush, but they shall not contemn — 
They may torture, but shall not subdue me — 
'T is of HER that I think — not of them." 

Jnly i8 1895. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 43 



NIGHTFALL THE LAST OF AUGUST. 

She sun goes down behind the hills, he slowly steals away, 

And twinkling stars now blooming out announce the part- 
ing day ; 

Soon night her vail o'er earth will spread, her vail of sable 
hue — 

Already leaves and flowers bend beneath the falling dew. 



The warbling tenants of the day, in tree or hedge or bush. 
Are resting now from all their sports — the shadows bid 

them hush; 
But high upon some lonely perch, 'midst foliage thick and 

wild. 
The owlet sings her dismal song which scares the timid 

child. 



The piping bullbat rising high, the plaintive whippoorwill 
Are singing now in other climes — their voice with us is still ; 
The swallow dares prolong her stay, and now at evening's 

close, 
Without a twitter on she speeds — with whistling wing she 

goes. 

The drowsy bat all day ensconced in his small, lonely lair 
Now spreads his leathern wings full length and darkly 

cleaves the air, 
With noiseless flap he skims along beating his silent round — 
See ! look what circles he describes ! look there ! he tips the 

p-round. 



44 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

"The beetle wheels its droning flight," the katydid in 
trees 

Articulates its "katydid" upon the summer breeze; 

The rev'ling cricket chirps its song from hearth and under- 
ground, 

And many a pang or pleasure gone returns with ev'ry sound. 



The ugly toad from sleep aroused now winks, and hopping 

out 
From under houses, boards, and clods, begins his nightly 

bout; 
His ugliness we all admit, yet no one e'er destroys 
The life of this poor harmless thing, saves snake and cruel 

boys. 



The salient hare with cautious bound and ever list'ning ear 
From covert steals so warily his looks suggest his fear; 
Full well his instinct teaches him a fact we all should 

know — 
That whatsoe'er's without defense is sought by ev'ry foe. 
Now come the sounds, from pastures green and from the 

dark, cool dells, 
Of lowing herds, of bleating sheep, and drowsy-tinkling 

bells ; 
And ever and anon is heard the voice of human song, 
Or loud halloo, or noisy whoop, echoing far along. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 45 

Upon the ear, through stilly air, from many a neighb'ring 

yard. 
The faithful watch-dog's larum sounds his master's home to 

guard ; 
And oft an interrupting noise against the stillness swells 
Where straining close behind the hare the fox-hound loudly 

yells. 

'Tis at this season of the year — the greater hardships o'er — 

The Fural occupant enjoys himself as not before ; 

Nor bloomy spring, nor mellow fall, delightful tho' their 

charm, 
Has ever giv'n such privilege to him who works the farm. 

August 29, 1895. 

THE BACHELOR. 

The bachelor ! the bachelor ! 
And what, I pray, is he good for? 
Nobody on this round earth knows, 
But should I an opinion give 
Why God lets such a creature live 
I'd say : he rounds the sum of woes. 

Each phase of life helps form life's chain. 
And ev'ry link must bear its strain, 
The bachelor is like the swivel ; 
For round him all earth's evils turn. 
And for him there's so much concern 
He thinks : well, I do catch the d — 1 ! 

August 30, 1895. 



46 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

THE BLACK-SNAKE AND THE TURTLE. 

"Yes I'll go," said the snake, 

"Through the fen or the brake — 

Anywhere just to leave this location ; 

It is now my desire 

From this place to retire 

In order that I eet recreation. 



• ' There's no pleasure at home ! 

I care not what may come 

I am busy with this and the other ; 

I can find mot a day 

To devote to my play. 

It is nothing but trouble and bother!" 

This soliloquy said 

The young snake raised his head, 

And sped on thro' sunshine and thro' shadow, 

Till at length he thought best 

That he take a short rest 

'Midst the cool springing grass of the meadow. 

And while here he began 

All his prospects to scan — 

Many colors of life were presented ; 

And to tell it in brief 

Nothing gave more relief 

Than to think his old home was absented. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 47 

"I am thankful today 

I'm away ! I'm away ! 

I've no wish or desire of returning — 

Of the strain and the whirl 

Of this busy, wide world 

I regret to have been less discerning." 



This he said all alone, 

And had doubtless gone on 

Had he not interrupted a turtle 

Who had come from his store, 

Which he kept on the shore, 

To his berth iinder grass and wild-myrtle. 



Said the turtle to him : 

" Why, my friend, you look trim 

In that fine flossy suit of prunello ; 

Notwithstanding I see 

Folks of ev'ry degree 

I confess I have seen no such fellow." 



Complimented this way 

There was little delay 

In producing in him a conviction 

That he'd won a kind friend 

Who'd prove kind to the end, 

And said so without any restriction. 



48 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Now the turtle well knew 

The best thing he could do, 

After hearing this speech so confiding, 

Was to flatter and coax 

And employ funny jokes. 

Though his real intent he was hiding. 



He convinced the young snake 

There was much he could make — 

That great good in this world did betide him, 

And said he: "would you win 

You have but to begin," 

And proffer'd his own judgement to guide him. 



"The good looks you possess 

Accord well with your dress, 

And your eye is of pure diamond brightness ; 

You've a pretty, fine head, 

And the first word you said 

Convinced me you excel in politeness. 



" But look here ! I didn't know 

Time was running out so — 

Ivittle more and the sun will be setting ; 

Hours and days are so fleet 

When our pleasures are sweet — 

I hadn't noticed how late it was getting. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 49 

" Since 'tis late come with me 

Let's repair to yon tree, 

I keep there my storehouse of provision , 

And whatever you think 

Of to eat or to drink 

Shall he had," and he spoke with precision. 



'Tisn't worth while to allude 

To what further ensued, 

Save to say there was fondness between them ; 

With much intimacy 

They went off in great glee, 

It were funny indeed to have seen them. 



Now at last they have come 

To the turtle's fine home, 

Except that they must cross some deep water ; 

The snake said: I can't swim." 

Said the turtle to him : 

"Mount my back I'll transport you in order." 



The snake craw'd on the shell 

Which but meant a farewell 

To himself and his heirs now, forever ; 

For his strange, living boat 

Was soon fast to his throat, 

And ate him in a manner quite clever. 



50 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

MORAL. 

Now the moral of this 

Is too easy to miss , 

'Tis too plain to prevent us from finding 

That this clumsy, mean verse 

Simply tries to rehearse 

The old tale of the axe still a-grinding. 



'Tis a lesson also 

To the young who will go 

From their homes off in search of a better, 

Who returh sadly wreck'd 

And are lost to respect — 

For the good of this world a dead letter. 

September lo, 1895. 



A STRANGE ANSWER. 

When I was a child I loved dearly to hear 
The stories of ghosts and such tales as affright ; 
They wrought within me a mysterious fear 
Which curdled my blood, but ne'er fail'd to delight. 



Sometimes after supper the kitchen I'd seek 
To get with the darkies — the family slaves, 
And there I might hear any night in the week 
Adventurous tales or the legends of graves. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 5 1 

Some sable hero not unfrequently held 

A place of importance at these special times, 

And one of the tales which they loved much to tell 

Was told as here giv'n in the following rhymes: 



"There once was a man whom his master had sent 
Alone in the woods boards and shingles to rive ; 
And lireary and wild was the place where he went, 
Remote from the highways in which people drive. 



"A custom there was with some slave-holding men 
To give to their slaves certain work to achieve. 
And if they perform'd it before the week's end 
The time yet remaining was free to receive. 



"Accordingly this slave his work had begun. 
And thither he went never stopping to wait ; 
In four or five days he might have his task done. 
Yet though if he did he must toil soon and late. 



"One night — 'twas the last — he was glad he could say 
Completion was near ; that although he had stoop'd 
And strain'd many an hour he could finish next day ; 
This said, laid his coat on his arm, and then whoop'd. 



52 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 

"His voice, strong and clear, loudly rang thro' the air, 
And pierced the deep gloom all around him so black, 
All sounds of the echoes were still ev'ry where — 
But hark ! what was that ! something answered him back. 



" A slight, nervous tremor pass'd over his frame, 

For he was alone, and he knew that no men 

Lived back in that woods ; — but, said he, ' In heav'n's name 

Did not some one whoop?' — Then he whooped again. 



"Whoo-whoop! came the voice, and the same as before, 
Except that 'twas nearer by half a mile's space. 
Said he : ' I must hush and not whoop any more. 
For surely that's something pursuing my trace. 



" He quicken'd his step, but not yet to a run. 
His forehead was damp with a cool, chilly sweat 
He had not a weapon — a pistol or gun — 
And fully two miles must be gone over yet. 



"Again came the whoop! 'twas now fearful indeed. 
Not farther behind than three-fourths of a mile. 
And still coming on with inciedible speed 
Much louder it grew, and more frantic and wild ! 



OR THE FARMER POET. 53 

'"Great God! 'said the man, and his coat he threw down; 

He had not a moment or second to waste ; 

O'er bushes and logs and the rough, rugged ground 

He ran for his home in all possible haste. 



"The feeling of fear was now high in his breast, 
And higher it rose as for life he rush'd on ; 
How anxious, how eager, how grimly distressed 
He felt as he said to himself — 'I am gone.' 



"But listen what screaming! and what did it mean — 
Such horrible sound now so wildly afloat ! — 
'Twas a brute's angry cry as he thought he had seen 
The man's fallen form, but instead 'twas his coat. 



" He sprang on the coat and his fury awoke — 

How quickly in pieces the garment he'd torn ! 

And though short was the time which he spent, yet it broke 

His swift, savage chase, while the man hurried on. 



"The latter now thought as he hasten'd along 
That maybe 'twas thus he might 'scape the fierce brute ; 
He pull'd off his pants which were heavy and strong, 
And left them on trail to impede the pursuit. 



54 ■ MUSINGS OF A BACHEI.OR 

"The lithe, savage monster soon came upon those. 
And tore them up quickly to many a shred ; 
But rnissing his prey he now madly arose 
To chase the poor man who had gotten ahead. 

"Ahead? yes ahead! and why strove he now more? 
What lighten'd his heart and new energy gave? 
'Twas light beaming out from his own open door 
Which seemingly said: 'hurry on, I will save.' 

"His strong, manly frame seem'd new vigor to gain, 
Hope quicken'd his step, though he felt greater fear ! 
His sinewy linAs bounded wildly amain, 
Because he well knew his pursuer was near. 

" But fate whose decree seem'd relentless at first 
To spare the rich gift which is loved by all men. 
Assumed a new turn, and allow'd him to burst 
Into his own house and be safe once again. 

" He quickly turn'd round when he'd gotten inside 
To slam to the door to secure him within. 
When lo ! in the light from the room he descried 
A huge panther's head, and with horrible grin !" 

This tale, though absurd, I still love to recall. 
It carries me back to the scenes of the past ; 
The kitchen, the faces, the fire-place and all 
Shall bide in my mem'ry with joy to the last. 

Octobei- 14, 1895. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 55 

AUTUMN SUNLIGHT AFTER FROST. 

After frost in the month of October 

Is my favorite time of the year, 

When the season is tranquil and sober, 

And the leaves are all yellow and sear; 

When the fields and the forests are richly bedight 

In the soft-glowing rays of the autumn sunlight. 



After frost comes the fine, bracing weather 

Which imparts a fresh feeling and rare, 

'Tis delightfully nice altogether — 

This exhil'rating, October air; 

There's a beauty, a lustre peculiarly bright 

In the soft-glowing ra^-s of the autumn sunlight. 



After frost when the farmers are trying 

To get in their rich harvest of grain 

All the beauty of nature is vying 

In the verdure, the stream, and the plain ; — 

These present to the eye a delectable sight 

When so brightly lit up by the autumn s mlight. 



After frost all the birds that migrated 

When the heat of the spring grew too warm 

Are again among us reinstated, 

Harbingers of the cold, wintry storm ; 

It is pleasant to see them on perch or in flight, 

For they look glad and happy in th' autumn sunlight. 



56 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

After frost the hickories are dropping 

From the boughs of the trees straight and high, 

And the squirrels are running and hopping 

To gather their winter supply ; 

And they frisk and they jump like a shadowy sprite 

Up and down and around in the autumn sunlight. 



After frost there is something inviting 

In whatever of nature I see, 

And how much I regret that my writing 

Fails to tell what I feel within me ; 

'Tis my soul which alone can attain to the height 

Of the transcendent glory of th' autumn sunlight. 

October 24, 1895. 

SONG OF THE OWL. 

De owl sot on de cipus-knee 

An' look'd up in de gum, 

She said I aint gwine in dat tree 

Untel I set here some : 

Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 

Dare's mo' whay dat come f 'om. 

De owl, she edicated high 
An' pooddy too — but grum, 
You see her sense in dat big eye 
Which do her looks become ; 
Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
Dare' mo' whay dat come f 'om. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 57 

x\n' when she 'gin to swell her th'oat 
Look out fur some'n to come, 
She mash her mouf down on de note 
An' make de woods fair hum ; 
Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 
Dare's mo' whay dat come f'om. 



An' ef she want to hab some fun 

You nebber ketch her mum, 

In makin' fun she mainest one — 

She allers make up some : 

Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 

Dare's mo' whay dat come f'om. 



De owl, she light but she aint spry. 

An' when she wid her chum 

She whoop an' laugh an' drap her eye 

Jes like she drunk on rum ; 

Den bridle de rat an' saddle de cat 

No mo' whay dat come f'om. 

November 2, 1893. 



58 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 



THE MEETING. 

[The following lines were suggested by the fact that call-meetings of 
a trivial character are usually productive of much talk but of little good, 
and if indeed any good is accomplished, it generally results from the sug- 
gestion of some one from whom it was least expected.] 

(A Burlesque.) 

A gobbler one morning awoke 

To find his back cover'd with snow, 
Said he: "Such as this I am sure would provoke 

A saint, if he had to fare so. 

Why is it I wonder that we 

(Addressing the rest that were there) 
Just have to sit here all night long in a tree, 

Or on a high pole, and the air 
So cold it would freeze anything? To my mind 
It's caused by the baseness and work of mankind." 

"Tut! tut! that is plain," said a hen: 

"I find that as old as you are 
You know very little indeed about men ; 

All over this country, or far 

Or near, it is said you can't find 

One-half the meanness in a hog, 
Or anything else, that there is in mankind. 

You might ask a horse or a dog 
If I am not right ; I'll suggest, anyway. 
You ask all the fowls just to see what they'll say.'' 



"Well dear," said the gobbler, "indeed 
I'm anxious to hear from them all, 
And at your suggestion I mean to proceed 



OR THE FARMER POET. 59 

At once, ma' am, a meeting to call; 

I'll write it as short as I can. 

And set forth the time and the place, 
Just say we request your opinion of man — 

That dastardly villian and base. 
Our grievance is bad, 'tis too bad to be borne. 
The yoke of the tyrant is all we have worn." 



The time was the first set upon. 

The place was a long garden walk 
Where April the first thirty minutes past one , 

Would come quite a number to talk. 

The rooster, the gander, the drake, 

The peacock, the guinea, and all. 
Were look'd for that day with no thought of mistake, 

As none could be deaf to the call. 
And when, sure enough, the glad day did arrive 
The adage would say: "They were too thick to thrive." 



The rooster, well known on the land, 

And ready always for defense. 
With proud, haughty bearing walk'd up to the stand 

And said it was time to commence. 

The crowd being still'd by a rap. 

The thing which came next to decide 
Was whom they should choose as a suitable chap 

To sit in the chair and preside. 
The gobbler was thought by the rooster so famed 
Without hesitation the o-obbler was named. 



6o MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

A second to this came at last, 

Then votes on the noes and the ayes, — 
The latter received a unanimous cast 

Which caused a most pleasant surprise. 

Elected, two members arose 

To act as escorts to the chair, 
And every one present seem'd glad to disclose 

The fact that he was to sit there. 
The rooster withdrew, when the gobbler averr'd 
How grateful he felt for the honor conferr'd. 

Now sitting with gavel in hand 

The table he rapp'd quick and loud, 
Announcing of course that he meant to command 

Good order at once in the crowd. 

Said he: "Let's to work if you please, 

The hours are so swift m their flight 
They bear us along as on wings of the bees 

Into the dark hive of the night. 
No further detention b}^ me I protest, 
My views are well known, so let's hear from the rest." 

These words, though so few, drew applause, — 

A thing which enthusiasm owes. 
And presently; after a suitable pause. 

The rooster impetuous rose. 

Addressing the Chair, he began 

In terms of invective the worst ; 
His hate, his contempt, and his censure of man 

Were proof that he wish'd him accurst. 
He thought that no creature that stood iti life's path 
Deserved half so much of the eternal wrath. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 

Then follow'd the drake and peacock, 

And each with strong emphasis said 
How sorry he was he was pow'rless to knock 

Such scoundrels as man in the head. 

A bloodthirsty villian indeed, 

Whose life was as mean as could be, — 
To gi-^e greatest pain and to satisfy greed 

Express'd his career to a T. 
"I wish," said the drake, "I care not what you think, 
In depths of 'Inferno' his soul could now sink." 

x\t this came applause and loud cheers. 

Confusion and clamorous noise ; 
The crowd getting quiet, then came to their ears 

The out-of-place words of "Well, boys." 

At once every one turn'd to find 

Whence words so uncouth could proceed. 
When far in the rear — away back there behind 

The guinea was standing to read. 
He thought by his essay to gain some renown. 
But bother'd by laughter, got mad and sat down. 

The gander was last to be heard. 

And when recognized by the Chair 
He said : " I expected to say not a word. 

But now I could hardly forbear. 

I've listen'd to what you have said, 

Attentively too as I could. 
And though well aware that the notice I read 

Was not at all misunderstood, 
Yet surely it puzzles the mind of a goose 
To see what we'll gain by the means of abuse. 



62 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

" According to History you know 

'Tis proved we should never be rash, 
In righting our wrongs it is best to go slow — 

Not carry things down with a crash. 

Revenge goes its way without eyes, 

Impell'd by the heart's blackest hate ; 
How deadly its work, how unsafe and unwise, 

Arrested, alas, when too late ! 
I vow (no offense) from what some of you say 
Your words are in keeping with this All-Fools day." 



The Chairman was struck with this speech, 

And cherish 'd the wisdom contain'd ; 
He thought Mister Gander no "Goose," but might teach 

The rest how contentment was gain'd. 

The others likewise did agree 

That anger their judgement had swerved. 
And each one confessed that now he could see 

'Twas what he had justly deserved. 
The meeting adjourn'd, and this thought was impress'd, 
That though they had spoken no wrongs were redress'd. 

November 27, 1895. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 63 



M-0-N-E-Y. 

That mammon rules the mind and heart 

Of men we plainly see, 
The whole is greater than a part 

Can never truer be ; 
No woman, man, or urchin small 

Who dwells beneath the sky 
Will doubt the love among us all 

For m-o-n-e-y. 



The aged millionaire will win 

Some blushing maiden fair. 
While in her soul she loathes the sin 

Of making such a pair. 
The law of nature she perverts. 

We need not question why, 
'Tis but the pow'r which man exerts 

With m-o-n-e-y. 

The handsome, educated boy 

Some rich old widow mates, 
Her wealth it is he means t' enjoy, 

Herself he stoutly hates ; 
The principle which here we prove, 

Let him who can deny, 
Is wanton sacrifice of love 

For m-o-n-e-y. 



64 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 

What furnishes the rare beefsteak, 

Keeps wood and coal for fire? 
What gets the wine, the pie, the cake. 

And all else we desire? 
What cheers the heart, lights up the face, 

Seems all to satisfy? 
What helps so much in life's hard race? — 

It's m-o-n-e-y. 



What makes the candidate polite. 

The merchant bow so low? 
What stirs ^the farmer day and night. 

And makes the doctor go? 
What makes the student study late? 

What makes the lawyer lie? 
What moves all things both small and great ?- 

It's m-o-n-e-y. 



"What is the worth of anything" 

(Alas, ignoble blot ! ) 
"But so much money as 'twill bring ?"- 

Life, honor or what not. 
That pure white robe by virtue worn, 

Bsteem'd and prized so high, 
Is oft begrim'd and rent and torn 

By m-o-n-e-y. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 65 

' Who are not wealthy,' Bulwer says, 

' Know not what can be done. 
Wealth realizes all our ways, 

By it great things are won ; 
There's felt a granduer when possest 

Which might the God's defy ; ' 
For oh ! what might, what ease, what rest 

In m-o-n-e-y. 



"Love rules the camp, the court, the grove," 

Thus Byron quotes the bard ; 
But says : 'Twere difficult to prove, 

(With poetry it's hard.) 
But if love don't, why then cash does : 

Without cash all were dry ; 
The greatest pow'r that ever was 

Is m-o-n-e-y. 

June 14, 1896. 



EPITAPH ON MR. BLANK. 

Here lies a man from earth cut loose, 
Tho' dead not miss'd, while here no use; 
He grew in meanness not in grace. 
And now he's gone to t'other place. 

June 29, 1896. 



66 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

EPITAPH ON MRS. BLANK. 

This unholy old dame (is there one to regret her?) 

Was so hateful while here we can never forget her ; 

Her tongue went the rounds of a measureless orbit 

And struck with the force of the pugilist Corbett. 

To stop this vile tongue nothing earthly could make her, 

So in mercy to us God saw fit He should take her. 

July i; 1896. 

THE ROBIN'S SONG. 

From the boughs of the trees there's a voice daily ringing, 

'Tis the sound of the song which the robin is singing. 

And so sweet are his notes I imagine him wooing, 

For less sweet might they be if aught else he was doing. 

From early in April he's singing so pretty 

This rapturous song to his own little Nettie : 

Oh my darling, sweet birdie, how fondly I love you, 

How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 

To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 

To ask Him to keep you, to bless and defend. 

When the gray of the dawn the horizon is streaking 

On the ear of the sleeper his love-strains are breaking. 

When the sun in his glory the heaven is climbing. 

With the breath of the morning his voice is still chiming; 

At noon and at eve on the twigs he is swinging. 

And gushing with love to his Nettie he's singing : 

Oh my darling, sweet birdie, how fondly I love you. 

How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 

To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 

To ask him to keep you, to bless and defend. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 67 



Though his nuptials are over and springtime is going, 
His sweet, liquid ditty is flowing, is flowing ; 
Though his tender young nestlings on him are depending 
His song he still utters in gladness unending. 
The world he makes brighter by warmth of the greeting 
Which daily we hear in the song he's repeating : 
Oh my darling, sweet birdies, how fondly I love you, 
How gladly my accents to heaven ascend 
■To that God who in wisdom is ruling above you 
To ask Him to keep you, to bless and defend. 

July 18, 1S96. 



THE GHOST OF THE ROADSIDE. 

On many a page of ancient lore 
We're told of ghosts in ghastly gore ; 
Tradition brings us many a tale 
Of those whose spirits weep and wail ; 
And Holy Writ does not declare 
That no such things inhabit air. 



Within no castle great and old. 

Or dungeon dark, and damp, and cold ; 

Within no tumbling mansion drear. 

Unoccupied for many a year ; 

Nor where the trees and vines have shut 

Almost from sight the mould'ring hut ; 

Not where the fearless v^/arriors stood 



68 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

On battle's crimson field of blood ; 
Not in the graveyard or the jail 
Resides the phantom of this tale ; 
But by the broad and open road 
Is where he makes his lone abode. 



'Tis said that once in every year, 

As twilight's shadows dim the sky, 

This apparition will appear 

To all who may be passing by ; 

And strange the sights which there are seen 

Of fiery eyes and scowling mien; 

Of hollow cheeks unclothed with flesh. 

And bloody wounds still running fresh; 

Of tongues emitting flame and smoke. 

And limbs all dangling, bruised and broke. 

In figures tall he often looms. 

Or forms of monster beasts assumes; 

Presents himself like birds of prey 

Who sullen sit beside the way, 

And crawling serpents long and gaunt 

Add terror to this dismal haunt. 



The sounds which at this place are heard 

Are all save human speech or word ; 

As if a secret to withhold 

Not anything has yet been told; 

But peals of thunder which appall. 

The boom of cannon, crash of ball ; 

The bass of ocean's rolling wave, 



OR THE FARMER POET. 69 

The cry of drowning wretch to save ; 

The groans of death where weapon's gride 

Has drawn from man the living tide ; 

The howling tempest fierce and black, . 

The roar and splash of cataract ; 

These all with every horrid sight 

In mad confusion there unite. 

And others too which less appall, 

As those of brutes that shriek and waul. 

And those of all domestic fowls, 

Of croaking daws and hooting owls, 

Add notes of woe the place to fill. 

Produced, it seems, by spectral will ; 

Indeed there's nothing can escape 

His pow'r to make, or sound or shape. 

However strange these freaks may be 

There's one yet stranger to appear: 

No sounds yoii hear, no sights you see 

Except within a certain sphere ; 

And this incloses but a space 

A rood's small siirface might embrace. 

Explosive sounds which rift and rend 

Cannot this boundary transcend ; 

And torch and flame, though bright they shine, 

Ne'er penetrate beyond the line. 

And who that happens there could guess 
The cause of all this vain distress? 
'Twere hard for stranger to allege 
The reason why, within a hedge 



70 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Beside the road — a public way, 
There e'er should be such wierd display- 
But those who know have often said 
'Tis but a spirit of the dead 
Whose life, by wicked, murd'rous plot, 
Was taken there upon that spot ; 
For ever since the deed was done 
Occurs this strange phenomenon. 



And say they too that since the time 
Of the commitment of the crime 
No efforts have as yet been made. 
By friendly hand or public aid, . 
To ascertain by word or act 
The circumstances of the fact ; 
That he who did the crime commit 
In freedom roams unpunished yet. 
Hence all who know of this vile death 
Are firmly grounded in the faith 
That to avenge a deed so black 
The spirit has to earth come back, 
And will at length the secret give 
Why he was not allowed to live ; 
Expose the cause, the plot, the plan, 
The murd'rer's name — the very man. 
That his own blood may yet be shed 
As retribution for the dead. 

September 9. 1896. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 7 1 



HOW THEY KHvLED HIM. 



Way back in the 6o'vS, perhaps '63, 
A steer on the land got hurt in the knee ; 
And being no 'count my father said : 
"Take him and eo knock him in the head. 



He spoke to his foreman, Frazier by name, 
And told Willis too to take part in the game ; 
And they led him off with a pair of plow lines 
To a forest of oaks and scrubby pines. 



Their weapon of death was nothing at all 
But a mallet of wood or rather a maul, 
And this Willis thought a trifling affair, 
But Frazier declared 'twould kill a bear. 



When in the woods Willis fasten'd the steer. 
And "Un Fra" as we call'd him, drew up near; 
He planted his feet down firm in the earth 
And slung his maul for all he was worth. 



Almost as fast as the hail can fall 
Down fell the strokes of Un Frazier's maul, 
And Willis said every time the maul fell 
It bounced and sounded " Who up pel tel." 



72 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 

The steer's head was hard and his skin was thick, 
And as Jack Grimes would say lack'd a "dead'nin' lick," 
But Un Fra was old and needed more force. 
His lick was not dead'nin' so, of course, 

The maul was handed to Willis who 
Would endeavor to show what he could do ; 
He had watched Un Fra, and now at length, 
The time was come he could show his strength. 

Willis lifted the maul and like a cyclone 
It "busted" the skin and broke the bone; 
It came with a c^rash, a fearful jar. 
And sounded he said : whooter smep khar." 

" Whooter smep khar" and "who up pel tell" 
Were the sounds of the licks by which the steer fell, 
But Willis, who told it, made it appear 
That "whooter smep khar" did the work for the steer. 

July I, 1897. 



TO-DAY I'M FORTY-ONE. 

It is with pleasure and with pain 
I go life's journey o'er again 

In pensive retrospection ; 
For many a flower bright and gay. 
And many a thorn beside the way, 

I see in recollection. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 73 

My earliest years, now far removed, 
But still by conscience most approved. 

Will ever seem the bripfhtest ; 
For then my life from day to day 
Was naught but glee and sportive play — 

'Twas then my cares were lightest. 



This morn of life in childhood's May 
Soon merges into broader day 

Of hope and expectation, 
And youth with many a promise bright 
Points me to fields of sweet delight 

With glowing contemplation. 



Youth past and manhood is attain'd. 
That age my vision long has strain'd 

To see with eager gloating ; 
But he who fancies this the o-oal 

o 

Where rests in peace the longing soul 
On slippery floes is floating. 



And now to-day at forty-one, 
A bachelor and all alone, 

I much deplore my mission 
My life is but a synonym 
For carking care and troubles grim — 

'Tis almost a perdition. 



74 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Pain, grief, regret, remorse are mine. 
My heart in anguish doth repine 

Within this bleeding bosom ; 
No charm can soothe my aching brain. 
No art absolve its bitter pain. 

Ah, Death, art thou more grewsome ! 

July 14, 1897, 



THE CHICK AND THE TOAD. 

A chick and toad together came 

And each the other call'd by name ; 

'Twas "Howd'ye Chick," "Good morning Frog," 

And thus Commenced a dialogue. 



At first disposed to gen'ralize, 
They spoke of fields and azure skies. 
They talk'ed of life, its toils and cares, 
And finally their own affairs. 

The toad 'gan to fabulate 
'Bout how he lived and what he ate, 
Said life was sad in all its ways. 
And dark had been his brightest days. 

"Tis not," said he, "that I rebel 
Against the Hand that rules so well, 
But let me ask the reason why 
If you are happy, why not I? 



OR THE FARMER POET. 75 

" The circumstances go to show 
That few are equal here below ; 
Just take for instance you and me, 
The diff'rence all can plainl}' see. 

"And hereupon, that you may know 
What I have said I think is so, 
I'll show by contrast plain and true 
How 'tis with me. how 'tis with you. 

"At night you go within a keep 
And rest you there in peaceful sleep, 
Your mother too broods o'er you there 
And sweeter makes the rest you share. 

"But where am I? ah, that is it! 
Upon the cold, cold ground I sit ; 
No walls of safety round me stand 
And danger lurks on ev'ry hand. 

"And food to you is often spread, 
By man thrice daily you are fed ; 
Now think of that ! — fy ! fy ! avaunt ! 
You do not know what 'tis to want. 

"But in my case liow diff'rent pra}' ! 
I often go from day to day 
Without a bug or even a fl}-. 
And hunofer till I almost die. 



76 MUSINGS OF A BACHKtOR 

"And in our nat'ral gifts I ken 
I fall below you ten times ten, 
Your features all are smooth and prim, 
Your ermine suit looks nice and trim. 



" But look at me. You've never seen 
Such suit of dingy, motley green ; 
And no kahau nor porcupine 
Has features ugly half as mine. 

"And now, Sir Chick, before I close 
I'll talk to you about my foes; 
To see how they their vengeance wreak 
Upon a thing so small and weak. 

" The cruel boy with stick or lash 
Beats me as if I were trash ; 
Relentless grinds me with his heel 
As if he thought I could not feel. 

" And e'en your species when they're grown 
Have never mercy to me shown, 
They catch and use me as they please. 
And take my life by slow degrees. 

"My greatest enemy, the snake, 
I dread as man would dread the stake. 
There's nothing else on this great sphere 
Awes me with such keen sense of fear. 



OR THE FARMER POET. ']^ 



"With you these are noiienties, 
Of course you have no enemies ; 
And could I share such happy cheer 
I'd want to live for e'er and e'er. 



"Now, Mister Chick, I guess you see 
That you must needs with me agree; 
The truth is plain, I think, in this 
Ineleo-ant antithesis." 



The chick replied: "I dont contemn 
Your words, but yet I must condemn 
The truth of those which go to show 
That I have not a single foe. 

"Why when my days were scarcely five 
A hen ate me almost alive. 
My head and back so freely bled 
She left me on the ground for dead. 

"And few the days — yes, very few — 
Since a fierce hawk upon me flew, 
But slightly caught in his death grip 
I wrung myself and gave the slip. 

"The fox, the weasel, and the mink 
Will eat my flesh, my blood will drink; 
The night-hawk perches near my coop 
Seeking a chance on me to swoop. 



78 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

" And man is yet more treacherous still, 
He raises me simply to kill ; 
It seems he likes on me to feed 
When broil'd, or baked, or fricaseed. 



" And now, Sir Toad, the thought disclaim 

That I enjoy such happy frame ; 

I'll say no more at present, since 

What you have heard must needs convince." 



"Umph!" said the toad, "I never knew 
That life \Yent half so hard with you ; 
Believe me, sir, 'tis with surprise 
I find how wrong was my surmise. 



"Well ! well ! I thought if anyone 
Enjoy'd life's pleasures and its fun, 
Drank in the sweets, no bitters knew. 
That one I surely thought was you. 



"And since I am mistaken here 
I feel I have no need to fear 
To say all creatures here below 
Were made to suffer pain and woe.'' 

July 29, 1897. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 79 



SHE DON'T LOVE ME. 

(Song.) 

There's a certain little girl 

About whom I daily think, 
She's as noble as an earl, 

And as pretty as a pink ; 
She's as sweet as any rose — 

Just as sweet as she can be. 
And I love her heaven knows. 

But she don't love me. 

Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her, 
She's so beauteous to see ; 

But I wish I'd never met her 
Since she don't love me. 



All the stars that shine above 

In yon high, "intense inane" 
Seem to tell me of my Love 

Whom my heart desires to gain ; 
And so sweet the glance she throws 

From that eye I love to see 
That I love her heaven knows, 

But she don't love me. 

Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her, 
She's so beauteous to see; 

But I wish I'd never met her 
Since she don't love me. 



8o MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 

And the lusty, mellow rays 

By the moon so gently shed 
Are but symbols of the days 

I would share when I was wed ; 
For she's sweet as any rose — 

Just as sweet as she can be, 
And I love her heaven knows. 

But she don't love me. 

Oh ! how glad I'd be to get her 

She's so beauteous to see ; 
But I wish I'd never met her 

Since she don't love me. 

July 31, 1897.^ 

AS WHEN HE CANNOT PAY. 

If a fellow knows he's call'd a dolt and feels that he's 
despised, 

That he's held by all in disrepute and grossly criticised ; 

It. is certain that such sentiments against him do inveigh. 

But they do not make him feel so small as when he can- 
not pay. 

If a man who is not much depraved happens a crime to do, 
A remorseful conscience aggravates his being through and 

through ■ 
It will oft appear before his mind and on his spirits weigh, 
But it does not make him feel so small as when he cannot 

pay. • 



OR THE FARMER POET. 8 1 

If the profligate or debauchee indulge his vices low, 

The contempt his betters hold him in of course he needs 

must know, 
But despite the fact that he must see the error of his way 
It is doubtful if he feels so small as when he cannot pay. 



When the drunkard staggers in his walk and falls at length 

dead drunk. 
He will know when reason has returned that lower still 

he's sunk, 
And in shame he'll pledge himself to hold his cravings all 

at bay. 
But he'll not be apt to feel so small as when he cannot pay. 



Though the swain his tale of love has told his best and 

dearest girl, 
And the doubt he feels about his chance has made his 

senses whirl ; 
Though he hears at last from her own lips: "What marry 

you, sir, nay;" 
Even then he does not feel so small as when he cannot pay. 

If a man's fair bride turns out to be a slattern and a shrew 
His humiliation is so great he doesn't know what to do ; 
He is piqued by her in various ways, he's worried ev'ry day, 
But she never makes him feel so small as when he cannot 
pay. 



82 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

When a jockey meets his fellow-man and banters him to 

trade, 
Very vig'rously he plies his lies until the trade is made ; 
But alas ! he loses in the deal, and if he would but say 
It is then he feels almost as small as when he cannot pay. 

And just so it is with all, I ween — I might go on and on, 
But I've said enough, I guess, just now my meaning to have 

shown ; 
You may bring your meanness, sin, and shame, and folly 

all in play. 
But they never make you feel so small as when you cannot 

pay- 

August 4, 1897. 



IS HE THE SAME? 

Pythagoras believed that when the soul 
The body leaves it transmigrates or goes 
In other creatures; well, upon the whole. 
The doctrine's strange, and yet nobody knows 
But he was right. Man only can suppose 
About all things, since he cannot acquaint 
Himself with their beginning or their close ; 
But yet he talks of things that are and a'n't, 
Forgetful he's a fool without the least restraint. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 83 

Pythagoras was a philosopher, 
The first of all that ever used that term, 
And notwithstanding this did he not err? 
Can we assert him wiser than the worm, 
Whose business, it would seem, is but to squirm 
Through life, 'bout what's unseen by mortal eye? 
He had a notion which he did not affirm — 
Just like the ancient author "Turkish Spy" 
Who says all things will live again after they die. 

» 

I'm not well read, or maybe I could name 
Some others whose views with the "Spy's" obtain, 
,Tis said John Wesley's thoughts were much the same, 
Though this I never did directly gain. 
The "Spy" contends that beasts should not be slain. 
Alleging they have souls as well as man, 
And much more sense, also without his stain 
Of guilt, — that awful and infernal ban 
Which worse and worse has grown e'er since the world be- 
gan. 

He makes mankind inferior; no doubt 
That's right ; for man's the meanest thing by far 
On earth. There's nothing you can talk about. 
From ocean's depths to heaven's highest star, 
That strives so hard and willingly to mar 
Earth's peace as man. He's the embodiment 
Of all that's gross and bad, the strongest bar 
'Gainst right and justice. Pity he was sent 
Since he is the first work for which God did repent. 



84 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

As to the life beyond I'm like the Turk, 
Although I cannot raise such strong defense 
In my support as he. He wrought good work . 
By force of argument and reason — sense 
Such as I never had. 'Tis but pretense 
With me to say a word. I do not know 
The final destination of the dense 
And crowded tribes of earth. 'Twere hard to show 
They live again, and yet I think that they ought to. 



But thinking's not enough; I must produce . 
Some reason be it poor. I'll illustrate 
My'views in a plain way, since the abstruse 
Deductions of the learned are too great 
For me. In doing this I beg to state 
That no two creatures fare alike ; one beast 
Luxuriates, another starves ; the fate 
Of some's to suffer want, while others feast, — 
The same 'mong birds and all — from biggest to the least. 



And Revelation speaks of beasts, I shall 
Not say in heav'n, but that's the way it looks ; 
It's well to call such metaphorical 
Or visionary, since, I guess, the crooks , 

Of Scripture are right hard to straighten. Books 
Divine teach us that God is just, and hence 
If He be so, if with all things He brooks 
No wrong, then it were nothing but nonsense 
To say He'll give not all their future recompense, 



OR THE FARMER POET. 85 

Since justice is unequal here. The pain 
Of some (I mean not men) exceeds the rest 
So far that when they die I think their gain 
Will be the greater as they're now distressed. 
But I'll not go on thus; I've much digress'd 
Already. I intended not to scrawl 
As I have done ; my theme would not suggest 
Such lines. The learned namesT here recall 
Were meant, perhaps, my own vain prating to forestall. 



But by the word "forestall" I may not make 
My meaning clear. 'Tis better to revise 
A little here, in order no mistake 
Be made: Names of philosophers and "spies" 
Are often sought by fools t' apologize 
For their own ignorance — just so with me; 
But since the great will talk and theorize 
On foolishness, I can by no means see 
W^hy I should not be given the same liberty. 



"Is he~the same?" — the theme on which I write. 
Relates, insapieiitly^ to a pet 
I had, when a small boy, a kitten white 
And clean with spots of gray ; I'll ne'er forget 
How glad he always seem'd when me he met. 
I call'd him Taunch, which was a substitute 
For Tom, his real name. And when I'd let 
Him sit upon my knee he, although mute, 
Show'd an affection which no Stoic could dispute. 



86 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

We loved each other as devotedly 
As child and kitten could. Where'er I went 
He seem'd to seek an opportunity 
To be there too. But life was never meant 
To last, and his, alas! was quickly spent. 
A bane for rats of which he ate soon robb'd 
Me of the pet on whom my joy was bent ; 
And oh ! how sadly, grievously I sobb'd, 
How achingly my heart in painful anguish throbb'd. 



The carcass of poor Taunch was ta'en away 
And cast upon a lone and grassy field 
Where in death's cold and still embrace, he lay 
Exposed, unsepultured, and unconceal'd; 
But high abov^e him the baldeagle wheel'd, 
Unerringly he gazed and swoop'd and bore 
Away my little friend on whom he meal'd. 
At this my eyes grew dim, my heart it tore 
To think that I should see my pet again no more! 



Long years since then have pass'd and gone, and what 
With life at school and with the busy trade 
Which follow'd afterwards, my time has not 
Been spent at home. It seems that there is laid 
For some an evil force by which they're made 
To do what they dislike ; I never thought 
I'd live alone, no matter where I staid. 
And yet, despite it all, stern fate has brought . 
Me home a bachelor — a life I never soueht. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 87 

Yes, I return'd four years ago, but not 
To meet my kindred as in time that's past ; 
Familiar ones who once endear'd this spot 
Were far removed ; some dead, and others cast 
Apart o'er this unbounded, wide, and vast 
Domain of earth whose realm's a scene of great 
And endless changes — changes which come fast. 
Returning all was lone and desolate. 
But here a Tom-cat lived who since has been my mate. 



A friendship warm and true sprang up between 
The cat and me. There is a constancy 
In brutes which rarely has been known or seen 
In man. They're always what they seem to be, 
Without pretentious love and enmity. 
"Ik Marvel" says the pleasure that we take 
In fondling favorite brutes is small, that the 
Enjoyment leaves no void when pass'd.' But make 
Of them whate'er we wish they do not us forsake. 



The foundling I call Kidnus or Tom-cat, 
And with me has he staid most faithfully ; 
And not a rabbit, bird, mole, mouse or rat. 
Escapes his vigilance. Chicanery 
Is not perhaps improper here, for he, 
It seems, does use it skillfully 'mong these 
However wary, wild, or quick they be ; 
Rabbits, and mice and rats he gets with ease, 
And not unfrequently the birds among the trees. 



88 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

But the great likeness which he bears to Taunch 
Surprises me. His color — white and gray — 
His shape, affections which are true and staunch, 
Are all the same. No matter in what way 
You look at him — his features, habits, play — 
The likeness is exact. Ne exeat^ 
It's Taunch, it's Taunch, sent back with me to stay. 
Socrates nothing knew, I'm worse than that 
As all mav soon determine by this feline chat. , 



Is this idea stranger than the one 
Pythagoras conceived? Did he not prate 
As foolishly, perhaps, as I have done 
In these unrhythmic lines about my "mate?" 
Well," as I said at first, it's hard to state 
With certainty the knowledge or the name 
Of things. We never know what we relate ; 
And who can tell but somewhere 'yond the flame 
Of stars I'll learn that Taunch and Kidnus were the same. 

February ii, 1898. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 89 



VIRLINE. 



To view thy charms is but to know 
The glory which on earth is found, 
T' obtain a glimpse of thee does show 
A form with grace and beauty crown'd. 



Thy words of warmth and tenderness 
Are ever ready to bestow 
A cheer to lighten earth's distress, 
And render less life's sum of woe. 



As the smooth lake more sightly grows 
When winds its waters lightly rile. 
So thy sweet face more radiant glows 
When brighten'd by a rippling smile. 



Thy tresses are like menilite, 
Thy cheeks are like the ruby rare 
Whose beauty forms a part of sight 
E'en though thy person be not there. 



Thine eye of purest, softest brown 
Infuses gladness by its ray. 
Its waves of sparkling glances drown 
The pangs which on my bosom prey. 



go MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 

Would I could trace within that eye — 
That tranquil orb of living light — 
A glance whose meaning did imply 
Consent that we in love unite. 



Could we, those solemn pledges vow'd, 
Unite and dwell in love's fair bow'r ; 
O'ercast by no portentous cloud, 
My life were happy from that hour. 

It soothes to think that time may bring 
A brighter future than the past ; 
Bright as the glow of sunny spring 
When love shall crown my hopes at last. 

Virline, sweet girl, thou knowest well 
The depth to which my soul is moved — 
That strange, unconquerable spell 
Which grows in love when most beloved. 

Then wilt thou not, dear girl, consent 
Our hearts in union to entwine. 
Remove that gnawing discontent , 
Which I must feel till thou art mine? 

Ah, yes, thou art too gentle sure. 
Too good, humane, and kind, I know; 
Too merciful, too sweet and pure 
To break the heart which loves thee so. 

March, 1S98. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 9I 



BERTHA MAE. 

(Air ." Departed Days.") 

"'Tis night when meditation bids me feel" 

There's one to whom my thoughts will stray, 
And oh how fondly, eagerly they steal 
From me to dear, sweet Bertha Mae. 

CHORUS. 

A rose she is in mem'ry's garden rare, 
In mine she'll bloom and ne'er decay ; 

For while life lasts she'll ever blossom there, 
That sweet fair flower Bertha Mae. 



The night of sorrow, howe'er deep its shade. 
Bright thoughts of her the gloom dispel. 

And when with her how oft I have delay'd 
The last and saddest word — farewell. 



What is the greatest joy I yet may share, 
What will inspire a hope to live? 

To hear these words from that sweet angel fair 
My hand and heart to thee I give. 



92 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR 



THE FISHING-PARTY. 

(A Nursery Tale.) 

Long time ago the buzzard said : 

"To-day I'll go a-fishing, 
The wind is low, the morning red — 

Exactly to my wishing. 
But yet," quoth he, "there'll be no fun 

With no one else to join me ; 
Br'er Rabbit's one I'll bet upon, 

I'll go and try him — dern me." 



The rabbit 4ived a mile or more 

Across the growing heather, 
But soon the buzzard's at his door. 

And talk they there together. 
Says he : " Br'er Rabbit, get your pole, 

And let's go down and try 'em ; 
I know they'll bite, and bless your soul ! 

How lovelv 'tis to frv 'em." 



The rabbit says : " Good ! — very thing ! 

I want some fish to eat, sir. 
And if you get the longest string 

I'll then agree to treat, sir." 
The buzzard laughed with merry glee. 

And said: "You must be funning, 
On that you'd better wait and see, 

When fishing I'm not running.'''' 



OR THE FARMER POET. 



Conversing thus they dig the bait, 
And soon are hot and sweating, 

When presently from at the gate 

They're ask'd : "What are you getting?" 

"I'll dog my cat! yonder's Br'er Fox, 
Yes, got his pole — he's going ; 

Make haste, Br'er Rabbit, fill the box- 
All hands can have a showing." 



Thus spoke the buzzard. Then, with airs, 

The fox came up descanting 
On such good fortune unawares, 

And lots of other ranting;. 
Says he : "That digging's all no use. 

For I have bait a plenty ; 
Let's go, time's slipping — why, the deuce." 

We might have had 'bout twenty." 



When all are ready off they rush 

Down where the fish are laving. 
Where over streams the breezes brush, 

And shady limbs are waving. 
Arriving there, the old canoe 

They push from out the sedges. 
The rabbit says: "Get in, you two, 

I'll fish around the edges." 



93 



94 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

The plan seem'd good, they could not see 

That further talk was needed ; 
The boat was rather small for three, 

Hence to this plan acceded. 
The rabbit then a worm impaled, 

And jutting roots he straddled. 
While down the stream his comrades sail'd, 

As noiselessly they paddled. 



The rabbit thinks: "Now go, canoe, 

I know you think you'll beat me. 
But that's all right— I'll see to you. 

Unless my plans defeat me. 
My purpose is to spend the day 

In rest and peaceful slumber, 
But when the first are ta'en away 

I'll carry off my number." 



Suiting the actions to his words 

He then, 'neath willows weeping. 
Lay down, and, lull'd by songs of birds. 

Was soon so soundly sleeping ^^ 

That hours, — those bubbles on the stream J|| 

Of life's swift flowing river — 
Before he waked him from his dream. 

Had gone, and gone forever ! 



OR THE FARMER POET. 95 

The day was waning when from rest 

He roused, nor did he tarry, 
But of the boatmen went in quest 

Lest all his plans miscarry; 
He hastes along the winding bank 

Near where a beech is standing, 
On whose "fantastic roots" and dank 

He finds his comrades landing. 



He hides hard by within the weeds 

To see what they are doing. 
When lo ! they're stringing fish like beads, 
This done, they speak of going. 
"Which way, Br'er Buzzard, shall we go? 

Which way would you suggest, sir?" 
"Really, sir, I hardly know. 
But this I think is best, sir." 



The buzzard bows direction meant, 

Then both of them departed ; 
The rabbit mark'd the way they went 

When up he bounced and started ; 
He runs around and gets ahead. 

Thinks he: "By George! I'll bet 'em 
That when they come they'll think I'm dead, 

And in that way I'll 'get 'em.' 



96 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

"But now, suppose they find me out, 

How will it be hereafter? 
Ah, well, on that I need not doubt, 

I'd turn it off in laughter. 
And then they will not think it's I, 

They'll think it is a stranger ; 
They'll say he's dead and go on by. 

Of course there'll be no danger." 



He hears them coming, down he lies 

And feigns a death-like habit ; 
The buzzard sees him, when he cries : 

"Hello! here lies a rabbit/' 
"Tis!" says the fox, "here in this fern, 

What think you was the matter?" 
"Can't say, but if we had no turn 

His flesh should grace a platter." 



To carry him they both were fain. 

But lack of strength forbore them ; 
They pass'd when round he went again 

And stretch'd himself before them. 
When seen, surprised more than at first. 

They stood in silent wonder ; 
Such unexpectedness just burst 

All further talk asunder. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 97 

They pause, but soon resume the route 

Whereon their mental bother 
Was high. They walk a half mile out — 

When — heav'ns ! there lay another. 
"Look here!" the fox exclaims, "we're near 

Our homes, and what to do, sir. 
Is : leave our fish with this hare here 

And go for t'other two, sir." 



"All right, Br'er Fox," — and off they snatch. 

The very breezes riding ; 
The artful "hare" then steals their catch 

And throws it safe in hiding. 
But knowing now that he must "skip" 

Since he has stoop'd to sJiab it^ 
As quick as thought he gives the slip, 

And — good-by. Mister Rabbit! 



The fox and buzzard miss their find, 

And have a sad misgiving 
That there is mischief in the wind 

As sure as they are living. 
The buzzard says : "Oh ! by the way ! 

I might have taken warning 
By what I heard that rascal say 

'Bout 'loupfest string' this mornino-." 



98 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

He then relates the circumstance ; 

The fox says: "Did you ever!" 
Then here they come with eyes askance, 

And in a work all over. 
Suspecting what the rabbit's done, 

The trick in part detected ; 
They hurry back when all is gone, 

Point-blank as they'd expected ! 



Lord ! Lord ! Lord ! — how they ripp'd and flounced ! 

Cut caper and gyration ; 
The buzzard said: "I'll just be doimced! 

If this don't beat the nation." 
But naught for that the fish were gone. 

The idle, lazy "dreamer" 
Had all their honest labor won 

Like many a thievish schemer. 

Febrnary 4, 1899. 



ADVICE TO GIRLS. 

Trust no men-folks when too pleasing. 

Better that you'll not them heed, 
Spurn their overtures and teasing, 

They're the men you seldom need ; 
They're deceptive in their natures, 

Rarely are they what they claim. 
Base and vile and sland'rous creatures 

Seeking often to defame. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 99 

Would you keep unstain'd the vesture 

Of your virgin innocence, 
Shrink from every smile and gesture 

Which should prove but false pretense ; 
Prize the honor you inherit 

High above all wealth and fame, 
Let the world behold your merit 

In a pure and spotless name. ■* 



Can you lose those mem'ries holy 

Which make home seem like a heaven, 
Seek you now for melancholy 

And for sorrow's bitter leaven, 
Then let self and social pleasures 

Of your life take sole control, 
Eat Dead Sea fruit, waste your treasures. 

Blasting thus your life and soul. 



Gentle maiden, naught is better, 

In this life we live below. 
Than that you should early fetter 

Some man's heart as on you go ; 
Some strong soul whose early loving 

Shall wax stronger with the years. 
One true heart that will be proving 

Ne'er a cause for grief and tears. 



lOO MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

Let your souls grow up in duty 

Seeking e'er for God's own light, 
You will thus gain grace and beauty 

And make life grow sweet and bright ; 
You will thus see how life's even 

Glows with ever bright'ning skies; 
Peace and joy are surely given 

But to those who thus are wise. 



Life grows sweet when truth controls us, 

Gilds us o'er with deathless rays, 
With white raiment it enfolds us 

Blest with God's unfailing grace ; 
Lifts the soul into a haven 

'Yond the arch-enchanter's reach. 
Pure as blooms beneath the heaven 

Or bright as sea-shells on the beach. 



But "the primrose path of dalliance" 

Shun as you would certain death, 
And be sure no doubtful alliance 

Smirch your name by slander's breath. 
Wouldst thou to thyself live truly 

Anchor safe thy trust in God, 
Then dark days shall prove unruly, 

Lighter too the chastening rod. 



OR THE FARMER POET. lOI 

Let the mother in whose travail 

Your young eyes first saw the light 
Never hear you scorn or cavil 

At what she holds just and right ; 
Strive to aid her in her burden, 

For you'll lose her soon at best, 
Strive to make yourself her guerdon, 

Strive to give her peace and rest. 



You, perhaps, may think your escort 

All in all the world to you. 
But your father's heart a resort 

Make when skies grow black and blue : 
He has loved you with a loving 

That's unspotted, sweet and pure, 
So, dear maiden, e'er be proving 

That his trust in you is sure. 

April 25, 1899. 



I02 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 



B. G. W. 

Before I have done with my verses and dates 

A word let me add on this son of old Gates ; 

Receive him all people, whoever you be, 

No man is more worthy I grant you than he: 

Exemplary in life, ever noble in aim. 

Square-dealing and just and exempt from all blame. 



Great not in the sense of the learned degrees 

Of Masters of Arts and your LL- D's ; 

Of rank in the army, the navy and such — 

Distinctions high-sounding and yet not so much ; 

Moves not among magnates- — no, not in this role — 

And mines of great wealth ^re not his to control; 

Not these make him ereat, but true orreatness of soul. 



Well favor'd is he, and a man of strong mind. 
In business, a model, in manners refined ; 
Lost not in the glare of a millionaire bore, 
Less likely to lean to the rich than the poor. 
In all his relations, deny it who can, 
A pattern he is, and no doubt a "good man." 
Methinks you would like this exception to know, 
So trace these initials — the names they will show. 

April, 1S99. 



OR THE FARMER POET. IO3 

A FARMER'S REVERIE. 

(By J. W. M.) 

I am sitting here all lonely 

By my humble cottage door 
Far down below Ahoskie 

I hear the railway's roar ; 
Some freight train is belated 

And disturbs the tranquil night, 
But the stars begin to glitter 

While the moon too adds her light. 



Forty years and more have vanished 

Since I first beheld, the light, 
Fort}^ years with many a sorrow 

And days when all was bright. 
Forty years God bless: ^ us, reader. 

We are growing sere and old. 
And our locks are swiftly bleaching. 

Losing fast their tints of gold. 



Now my friends, allow a farmer 

With ne'er a wife or child 
To entreat your good opinion 

And a spirit very mild' — 
As you scan these lucubrations, 

Of a bachelor forlorn. 
Who at times is sorely puzzled 

As to whv he e'er was born. 



I04 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

But there comes a brighter prompting, 

And it lifts my passing cloud, 
For a score of dear companions 

On my bookshelves yet do crowd. 
There gay poets and romancers 

Jostle sages and divines ; 
Hero kings and great philosophers 

In their shining ranks combine. 



Thus accompanied I am thankful 

That at times some cheerful friends 
Help discuss the world's transactions 

And its wicked aims and ends. 
Thus apart I walk unsullied 

And await that coming hour 
When we all shall cease to struggle 

For either human pomp or power. 



My farm gives me little trouble 

Save when cotton sells too low; 
My tenants endure the sunshine 

And stay out when cold winds blow. 
The ingleside is my harbor 

When e'er I'm thus disposed. 
And in this way avoid hardships, 

That on many are imposed. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 

It's true no wife nor children, 

Are seen here to cheer my days, 
But neither am I troubled 

Concerning means and ways 
For subsisting and sustaining 

Such a household properly; 
So no petty cares assail me, 

I am thus far wholly free. 



But alas! we're ne'er contented 

With this our mortal lot ; 
We seek for what the world has, 

And it little matters what ; 
We struggle till we get it, 

Then prize it when 'tis lost; 
So contentment is a phantom 

And elusive as a ghost. 



It is thus that I, a farmer, 

And a bachelor unchained, 
Can rest in modest comfort 

And gratitude unfeigned. 
I obey the Tenth Commandment, 

And abide the changing years, 
I alone of all my household 

Here remain where smiles and tears 



105 



I06 MUSINGS A OF BACHELOR 

Were mine in former seasons, 

When in childhood I was gay, 
And my fair young mother blessed me 

With her love by night and day. 
Here my father watched my footsteps 

As I first began to walk. 
And I hear his ringing laughter 

As I made essays to talk. 



He and my honored grandsire 

Both were sleeping long ago. 
But their< graves are close out yonder. 

Where too I soori shall go. 
I love to watch the spreading field 

In spring-time growing green ; 
.1 love' to watch tlic milk-white lambs 

Careerino- o'er the scene. 



And the calves, with tails uplifted, 

Join in the wild career. 
Sure spring-time is the gladsomest. 

Of all the thi'onging year. 
The cotton fields are all abloom. 

And tall wheat bends in waves ; 
And then from out some apple tree 

The robin's sweetest staves 



OR THE FARMER POET. 

Come ringing full of life and glee, 

Till evening breathes of love, 
And then in twilight soft and low 

Is heard the cooing dove. 
The martin's cry with dawn is heard 

And awakes bold chanticleer. 
While noisy geese and gobblers, too. 

Are heard both far and near. 



The lowing cows, the mule's loud bray. 

With added hound and horn, 
Join in with negro plowman's cry 

To serenade the morn. 
So I a farmer think and live 

And take my part in life. 
And thank my Cxod the great mad world, 

With all its heat and strife, 



Though very near, is still afar 

With all its wild uproar. 
I am as one who lonely treads 

Some distant island shore, 
And only hears the sounds of woe 

While round me all is peace: 
I calmly listen to the wails 

And cries until they cease. 



107 



I08 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

I stand upon a height and feel 

That I at least am safe, 
While others waste their little day, 

And vainly fret and chafe. 
So thus 'tis sweet to have a friend 

Disturb my solitude. 
To loiter o'er the fields with me 

Until the evening's quietude 



Drives us in doors. Then late in night 

We sit beside the fire, 
And then with no disturbance, 

We talk until we tire. 
The Spanish war and politics. 

Of course we ventilate, 
But other topics please us more; 

We leave the war and State 



To commune with sceptered men, 

'Who from their marble urns 
Still rule our spirits and exalt 

Each soul until it burns 
With wonder, love, and thankfulness 

That such men ever stood 
As leaders, priests, and prophets 

For the human multitude. 



OR THE FARMER POET. 109 

Such men are deathless as their deeds, 

They lift and guide us still, 
And lapsing ages only serve 

Their names and fames to swell; 
They loom upon the buried past 

Like those tombs of mighty kings. 
The Pyramids, along the Nile, 

Surviving still all other things. 



Thus in placid ease I wander 

Down my evening plain of life 
With no care from wayward childen, 

With no sound of scolding wife; 
With an heart that trusts the future, 

Still unscathed by what is past, 
I wait the coming hour 

Which shall be of earth my last. 



THE FIRST FLY OF THE SEASON. 

BY J. W. M. 

Persistent fly, no longer try 

To share with me my dinner; 
With all your eyes, you're still unwise, 

You small wrong-headed sinner! 
This fruit and cream may doubtless seem 

A thing to warrant peril. 
But wicked sprite, avaunt my sight ! 

Or there may be a quarrel. 



no MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

'Tis plain to see that unto me, 

You are one guest too many, 
You would not seek my peace to break, 

If manners you had any ; 
Pray grant me voice and my own choice 

In what I give a beggar ; 
And I must scold, freebooter bold, 

A'f " this your ceaseless leaguer. 



You are so shy, good Mr. Fly, 

In other people's business, 
I'm sure that you are of a crew 

That hails from Massachusetts; 
But sir, beware ! I do not care 

For Boston nor its common ; 
Your active mind you should confine 

To some strone-minded woman. 



You buzz and whine around my wine 

And o'er the dishes swagger. 
With all the grace and brazen face 

Of some huge carpet-bagger. 
The scallawags have got the bags. 

The darkies raise the odors; 
So take your nose from out my close 

And bum some other borders. 



OR THE FARMER- POET. m 

On Brooklyn Heights are your delights — 

Haste there and be a preacher, 
With dirty hands and broken bands 

Along with Parson Beecher; 
Yes, insect fair, go anywhere — 

I would not be uncivil. 
But hear me swear, I would not care 

If you went to the devil. 

This breezy morn, as I slept on, 

Upon my nose you settled ; 
And cannot yet my foe forget 

How I was roused and nettled. 
Are dreams and meals and all that steals 

The thorns from weary living 
To be thus marred and evil-starred 

By troubles of your giving? 

You bring to me such misery 

As Poe found in his raven ; 
With maddening feet my face }'ou greet 

Each dreadful morn and even ; 
I do not break your cursed neck, 

Because I cannot catch you ; 
Some human bore alone has power, 

Small miscreant, to match you 

If gift of speech were in your reach, 

And you some Blaine-like talker. 
My cup were full, another fool, 

Mip-ht dang-le at a halter ; 



112 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

For who would dare such fardels bear 
Through all his stifling summers ; 

I would as soon live in the moon 
With none but Sherman's bummers. 

But prying fiend, my woes will end, 

They will not last forever, 
Tho' now so spry and quick of eye. 

You can't abide cold weather; 
John Frost will come and be your doom. 

You long-perplexing trouble ; 
You'll change your tune and vanish soon, 

Like any other bubble. 

THE WATER-OAK. 

BY J. W. M. 

The water-oak, with green vast cloak, 

And limbs sent far abroad, 
Is standing here, from year to year. 

With its shadow on the road. 
The ancient stage-way, broad and fair. 

That leads to old St. Johns, 
Where long ago Ahoskie Ridge 

Commenced its first of towns. 

Ahoskie Ridge that stretches far. 
From Union to Rich Square, 

A pleasant haunt where men are strong. 
And maidens passing fair ; 



OR THE FARMER POET. II3 

The glory of its cotton fields, 

And breadths of golden grain, 
No other region here about 

Can rival or attain. 

This water-oak was planted here, 

And nurtured well by God ; 
Its mighty shade at noontide rests 

Upon the weary road. 
The black and twisted limbs are strong, 

Wide-sweeping 'neath the sky. 
Whereon the pewee hangs her nest, 

When summer breezes sigh. 

It is a Saul amid its kind. 

So regal is its girth, 
A perfect acorn must have dropped 

To give it such a birth; 
Some loving Dryad surely watched 

It as it slowly grew 
So broad and fair, and many-limbed. 

Beneath the arching blue. 

There was a time, Oh, long ago ! 

When it was small and weak. 
But now a giant's force would fail 

Its fastenings to break ; 
It grapples deep the earth below 

And broadens year by year — 
The fairest, proudest tree that grows 

In regions far or near. 



114 MUSINGS OF A BACHELOR 

No clustered palms on eastern waste, 

More grateful to the eye, 
A lordly monument it seems. 

Of ages long passed by; 
It lifts its huge and gnarled trunk. 

Far upward toward the stars, 
And flings defiant arms abroad 

To meet fierce winter's wars. 



The storm may come in its agony, 

And shriek as it hurries by, 
The water-oak unharmed and strong-, 

Beneath the vaulted sk}-. 
Stands like some soul, self-poised and firm, 

Assailed by tempters dire — 
Fast-anchored in a deathless hope 

That cannot fail or tire. 



Wa5^-faring men with heat outworn. 

Here pause at summer noon. 
And gaze aloft, 'mid coolest depths, 

While like some deep bassoon. 
The bull-frog's heavy bass is heard 

F'rom out his sedgy home ; 
And here at dreamy twilight swells 

The bittern's solemn boom. 



OR THE FARMER POET. II5 

I loved it in my sunny youth, 

It cheered my listless hours — 
I loved the pewee hidden deep 

Amid its leafy bowers; 
It grows in view of that fair home 

Where I was bred and born — 
The home I fondly cherish still, 

Thoup-h lono- from it I'm torn. 



And sweet is now the thought of one, 

Who oft at eventide 
Passed under these thick boughs with me, 

Ere she became a bride. 
Ah water-oak ! can you forget 

The grace of such a time? 
God bless you long, mine ancient friend. 

And this dear love of mine ! ! 



Beneath it stern Cornwallis rode 

From Guilford's bloody field. 
And then anon it heard the bells 

That for peace and freedom peal'd ; 
And when the eighty years of rest 

Had all been fully scored, 
Then through its shade the swelling tide 

Of civil war has poured. 



Il6 MUSINGS OF A BACHEIvOR OR THE FARMER POET. 

It heard Matt Ransom when he charged 

Through Plymouth's deadly hail, 
For even here the storm of sound 

Was borne upon the gale ; 
It heard the thunder of the guns 

When Cooke fought all the fleet, 
As slowly down the Albemarle 

They went in foul retreat. 



Alas ! and down this very road, 

From Appomattox came, 
A handful of that noble wreck. 

Forever dear to fame; 
They came — the worn and weary men. 

That Lee had led and loved. 
And even this stern water-oak 

With such a sight was moved. 



Ah, water-oak ! Old water-oak ! 

I love you well and long, 
I would that I some fitting praise 

Could lift in this my song ; 
There's not in all this land of ours 

A broader fairer tree, 
lyong may your shadows stretch around 

And shelter mine and me! 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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